


Listen, Would Ya?

by squad51rescue



Category: Emergency!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squad51rescue/pseuds/squad51rescue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument where he is told that he "doesn't listen", one of the men reflects upon it and begins to believe that it is true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Listen, Would Ya?

_These guys, gals, and the show do not belong to me, just borrowing them for some fun!_

Roy DeSoto pulled his Porsche into the parking lot of Station 51, muttering under his breath. He angled the nimble car into the spot next to his partner’s white Land Rover, not bothering to back it in. He eased his 6’1 frame out of the car and moved rapidly towards the side door of the station. Still talking to himself, he breezed through the door, grunting in acknowledgement to the hails from some of the men from both C shift and A shift.

“What the heck is wrong with him?” One of the linemen from C shift queried, looking at the retreating back in puzzlement. “DeSoto is always early, and I think he has more words in his vocabulary then that!”

A shift’s lineman, Marco Lopez, looked up from the cup of coffee he was pouring at the stove. “Maybe he hasn’t had his coffee yet?”

There were mumbled agreements chorused out as the men returned to their prior activities. Papers rustled, coffee flowed, and conversation resumed as the incident was quickly forgotten.

“She says **I don’t listen** to her…..what about her not listening to me….”Roy mumbled, stalking across the apparatus floor and slamming shoulder first into the swinging door that led to the lockers. He slammed to an abrupt halt just inside the door, oblivious to the door swinging back and smacking him in revenge. He groaned and slapped a hand to his head at the slightly raised voices that greeted him.

“Listen, would ya, Chet? You can’t say that to a chick and…….oh, hey Roy!” Johnny interrupted his discourse and spun around to face his partner, brown shirt dangling from his fingers; he paused a second as if remembering what he had been doing before his heated discussion with Chet Kelly. Grabbing a hanger, he draped the shirt over it and shoved it back in the locker. “What did you do on your days off?”

“Not a damn thing, according to my wife,” Roy blurted out into the shirt he was pulling off over his head. At the silence that followed his uncharacteristic answer, he looked over at John Gage and realized that he now had the full attention of both Gage and Kelly. They were staring at him, shocked expressions fully engaged.

“Oh great, now someone listens to me,” DeSoto groused under his breath, yanking the shirt off his arms and tossing it haphazardly into the locker. He grabbed a white t-shirt out of his bag that he had dropped onto the bench; he chanced a quick glance over at his partner.

Johnny was biting his lip in an apparent effort to remain silent. His eyes darted sideways and met Roy’s.

“Joanne, huh?” He finally asked quietly, sidestepping closer to Roy so that Kelly couldn’t hear them. He shrugged his blue uniform shirt on and leaned against the locker next to Roy’s, fingers busy buttoning as he gazed quizzically at the other man.

“Yeah, says I don’t listen to her. Says I never listen to anything that she has to say, that I tone her out, hear what I want to hear…..selective hearing she calls it,” Roy snapped angrily, jerking up his navy blue pants and tucking in his shirt. Johnny glanced at his watch and hastily backed up to his locker to finish dressing before roll call. Pants and shirts in place, he dropped down into his locker and stretched his long legs onto the bench to pull on his black socks and black shoes, tilting his head towards Roy as he did so.

“You, uh…I mean, what did you say back to her?”

Roy slammed the locker shut and glared at the younger man. “What was I supposed to say? You’re the expert with women, you tell me!”

He turned and stomped out of the room, leaving Gage dumbfounded with his hands hovering over his partially tied shoes. Kelly moved up beside the momentarily frozen paramedic and smirked.

“Listen, Gage, you should know better than to….”

“Shuddup Chet!” Johnny spat out, moving back into action. “I can handle Roy, you go hang the hoses or somethin’!”

Chet nodded sagely and slowly followed Roy’s path out the door. “Gladly, gladly my friend….”

John sighed and dropped his feet on the floor, rubbing his face with both hands, before bouncing to his feet and following the lineman. “Oh boy, this is gonna be one long shift……”

After roll call and receiving their assignments for the day, the paramedics performed their calibrations and checked their supplies, moving methodically but silently through their day to day activities. After several failed attempts to engage DeSoto in any kind of conversation, Johnny gave up and retreated to the dorm to make the beds and clean the floors.

Roy, his mumblings finally silenced, furiously attacked the apparatus floor with a mop. He gazed into the dirty water, thoughts swishing through his head. He then pounded the mop back into the bucket, splashing half of the water back onto the floor and his boots. He ignored the minor flood and slapped the mop haphazardly back across the section of the floor that he had just cleaned.

He was unaware of the two men watching him; his captain was leaning on the doorframe of his office, while Mike Stoker leaned on his own mop in the doorway of the day room and observed. Two more pairs of eyes joined the engineer in the doorway and silence reined for several minutes as they too watched the strange behavior of the usually reserved paramedic.

“What is going on with Roy?” Marco whispered to Chet, waving his hand in the direction of the bay. Kelly grabbed the back of his friend’s shirt and pulled him backwards.

“Wife troubles….how long do you think it will take Gage to get it out of him?”

“End of shift, at least…..” Marco mused thoughtfully. “Roy can be pretty tight lipped about things.”

“No way, man,” Chet hissed in reply. “Listen, you know how Johnny gets. He’s like a dog with a favorite bone; he’s not gonna let up! I say he gets it out of Roy by the end of their second run.”

The linemen continued to argue as Stoker moved back into the room, smiling at the heated discussion but declining to take part in it. Intent on finishing his task, he shooed the men with a flapping hand towards the kitchen.

Captain Hank Stanley rubbed a hand on his chin as he took in the sight of DeSoto mopping the same area of floor for the third time, his actions still fierce and frenzied. He sighed as the sound of raised voices filtered out of the day room; he pushed himself in resignation from the doorframe and poked his head into the other room. That was enough to silence them.

He moved across the bay, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room, emptied of vehicles. Totally oblivious to the commotion around him, Roy continued his assault on the unresisting cement, his back towards the noise. When Stanley cleared his throat, the younger man jumped and dropped the mop.

“Sorry, pal,” he said softly, resting his hand for a second on DeSoto’s shoulder. “Something bothering you?”

Roy blinked at him a moment in confusion, before bending down to pick up the mop. He rested both hands on the handle and looked at his captain. “I guess so. It’s just something my wife said; I need to think it through.”

“Well, think it through a little faster, Roy. Your buddies in there are worried about you.” Stanley swept his hand towards the kitchen, then moved it back and with two pointing fingers motioned towards the dark rectangle of wet floor the two men were standing on. “You’ve mopped the same patch of floor at least three times.”

Roy groaned inwardly but kept his face expressionless as he realized the truth of what his captain was saying. “Right, Cap. Sorry.”

Hank nodded and strolled back to his office, keeping his smile at bay until he hit the sanctuary of his little room. “Twit,” he mouthed, grinning widely but feeling a pang of sympathy for DeSoto. “I wonder what she said.”

Feeling disgusted with himself, Roy steadfastly mopped the garage in a grid pattern. He was careful to keep his movements steady and calm, not wishing to draw any more attention to himself then he already had. He couldn’t believe that the argument between him and Joanne earlier was spilling over into his work space.

“Is that what happens after you had been married for four or five years?” He pondered to himself, careful not to vocalize his churning thoughts. “Every little thing blows up into a gargantuan “problem”, and then it all follows you into work?”

He paused briefly to survey the floor, making sure he was on track, before continuing on his sudsy odyssey. “The really rotten thing about this whole thing is, I don’t even know if she was referring to a certain incident, or the entire time that we have been married. I mean, why, does she bring it up now, that I don’t **listen** to her? Does that also mean that I don’t listen to the guys here at work, that I tune them out too if I don’t like what they’re saying? Oh, hell……”

The confused paramedic stopped again, realizing that what he had just thought could very well be true. He definitely had developed a deaf right ear with Johnny; driving in the squad with the often talkative Gage had resulted in him filtering out, sometimes, a lot of his inane chatter. This was something he most assuredly did with his wife.

“Just like I do with Jo,” Roy mumbled, out loud this time. “I harvest through their words, their chatter, their complaints and whining, and pick out only what I want to hear. And the rest of the guys, I simply absorb myself into something, like reading, so that their conversations and arguments just blend into a nice, soothing white noise…….

Slamming the mop into the bucket for a final time, Roy rolled the whole thing out the back door. He dumped the little water remaining in the container and rinsed it out, then hung the mop upside down to dry on the rack attached to the building. He forced himself to take a calming breath and walked over to his car, running his hand along it as he continued to the block wall that divided the parking lot from the industrial building behind it. Turning, he leaned against the already sun warmed blocks and folded his arms, listening to the sounds of the morning traffic roaring on the freeway behind him.

“Maybe she’s right…….I don’t really listen……….”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The klaxons sounded, interrupting Roy’s brooding. He grabbed the call slip from Captain Stanley as he trotted past him, reaching the driver’s door of the squad at about the same time as Johnny slid into the bench on the passenger side. He handed off the call slip to his partner as both men dropped their helmets on their heads and tightened the chin straps.

“Go left, and then two miles to Trenton, make a right. We can save a couple of minutes going down that alley behind those new apartments, as long as there’s not a garbage truck down there,” Johnny advised, slipping the call slip under the visor and glancing over at Roy.

“Got it,” DeSoto acknowledged, smiling slightly at the other man’s questioning look. John seemed satisfied with that for the moment, and focused on the traffic and the intersections. They reached their destination in about eight minutes; Gage determined, by looking at the apartment number, that the call was located on the second floor of the lushly landscaped complex. After several minutes of following his rapidly moving partner, Roy was beginning to feel like a rat in a maze. The numerous turns and bewildering numbering sequences of the units had him contemplating what the architect must have been smoking when he designed the posh but thoroughly confusing labyrinth of concrete dwellings.

A triumphant grin flicked across John’s face when they cleared yet another corner and arrived at the specified apartment. Immediately his features composed themselves into the serious, professional mask that he had become quite adept at using. Standing slightly off to the side of the door upon hearing the raised voice emitting shrilly from within, he pounded on the door with his palm while calling out “fire department”.

There was a noticeable pause before the door cracked open and an eye appeared; apparently satisfied that Gage was indeed “fire department”, the orb retreated and the sound of a chain being jerked was heard. The door flew open and Roy couldn’t help his reflexive twitch backwards at the suddenness of it. He made enough of a scraping noise with his shoes on the concrete balcony for Gage to shoot him an inquisitive glance before nudging the door open further with his foot and following the door answerer inside .Chiding himself for his unusual agitation, DeSoto trailed after John into the apartment and glanced warily about, not realizing that his nervousness was projecting onto his partner. Johnny looked at him again before focusing his attention on the awkwardly sprawled man on the thick forest of green shag carpet. Probably in his late forties, the blond, curly haired man was lying flat on his back with his hands folded on his stomach and his eyes shifting back and forth between the two medics. He was clothed in cutoff blue jean shorts and a light green t-shirt, which was stained brown across the front. Coffee, definitely coffee, Roy deduced, spying the overturned mug lying near the man’s head.

Finally realizing he was displaying his inner turmoil, at least enough for his often oblivious friend to be worried and confused, Roy concentrated on the job at hand. He crouched down on the man’s right side and hurriedly set up the bio-phone, trying to ignore the hissing accusations spitting from the woman hovering several feet behind the man’s head. He assumed she was the poor man’s wife; he couldn’t imagine anyone else standing for the verbal abuse that was rolling nonstop from her. Probably about ten years younger than her husband, she also had curly blond hair that framed an attractive face and blue eyes; at least Roy thought she might be pretty if her face wasn’t screwed up in such an expression of anger and sullenness.

Rolling his eyes up and catching a glimpse of his colleague’s visage, he could see that Johnny was getting seriously annoyed with the steady stream of abuse raining down on their patient. The man, however, seemed totally oblivious to the noise; he appeared relaxed and he only winced slightly when Johnny slid his hands carefully down his oddly bent left leg.

“Sir, are you hurt anywhere else?” Gage queried, raising his voice slightly and leaning in over the man’s chest to override the cacophonic racket that seemed to be increasing in volume. The man gazed at the younger paramedic and slowly shook his head, rolling his eyes upwards at his wife. Johnny pulled back and turned his head towards Roy, then angled his body in the same direction.

“He’s got a tib/fib fracture, Roy…..and that’s just about enough of that,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, and rose quickly to his feet. He stepped over the prone man, skirted the glass coffee table that was providing a narrow physical barrier between the married couple, and began propelling the woman backwards, an open, non-threatening palm placed on each of the woman’s upper arms as he bent his head and started talking to her. Whatever he said apparently worked as the older woman snapped her mouth shut and plopped down on the couch, eyes wide and tears beginning to glisten in her eyes. Johnny knelt down in front of her and carried on a one sided conversation, punctuating his softly spoken assurances with hand gestures. The woman nodded and smiled wanly and Roy saw that, indeed, she was easy on the eyes; when she reached out both hands and cupped Gage’s face with her hands Roy cast his eyes downward and fumbled with the BP cuff, not wanting to see his ever charming colleague’s reaction to THAT.

Stethoscope in ears, Roy focused intently on the gauge and marked down the readings. As he scribbled down the rest of the vitals, he played a question and answer game with the middle aged man, who still seemed strangely mellow and pain free despite the circumstances. Although he hesitated before answering each of the questions thrown at him, his replies were coherent and he calmly denied any drug or alcohol usage. It was only when DeSoto immobilized his leg that he actually displayed any indication of pain; the clenching of fists, the tightening of his mouth, and the beads of sweat appearing on his face were the only indicators of his discomfort.

The arrival of the ambulance crew propelled Johnny back over to Roy’s side. He deftly inserted an IV while Roy closed down the bio-phone and gathered up the litter. Together the four men packaged and prepared the husband for his trip to the hospital. Tucking the IV bottle up near the victim’s shoulder, Gage held out his hand towards the blond haired woman.

“We’re taking your husband to Rampart, Mrs. Callahan; did you want to ride in with us?”

“Oh, yes, yes…” She replied in a hushed tone, her voice so different from before that Roy looked over at her in astonishment.

“Maybe some shoes?” Johnny suggested nicely, pointing his still outstretched hand towards her bare feet. She assented just as nicely, fumbling for her sandals, keys, and purse and then finally following Johnny to the door. Roy, perplexed, shook his head in disbelief and trailed behind, lugging a black box in each hand. As they waited for her to lock the door, Gage grinned at his partner and pointed to himself and then to Mr. Callahan, who was on his merry way down the terrace, accompanied by the two straight faced attendants.

“You want me to….?”

“Yeah, please,” Roy grunted in reply, trying to force an answering smile. Johnny raised a wary eyebrow but then shrugged. He transferred the dangling HT in his left hand to his right, the HT thumping noisily against the bio-phone case as he let it come to rest on the top of it. Roy jumped nervously at the clunk, earning him another look from Gage. But this time annoyance was clearly visible in the dark eyes and there was no reassuring smile. Just great, Roy thought, I’m so jumpy and paranoid now my partner has lost patience with me.

Johnny moved forward and touched Mrs. Callahan lightly on the shoulder with one finger and bent his head closer to say something to her – to Roy it sounded like “You’re husband is going to be just fine, Mrs. Callahan.” For some reason the simple sentence annoyed Roy and he bit his lip to keep from voicing his displeasure. Apparently his friend had no problem with listening to people, and being listened to. Would that woman have listened to him? And just what the hell did Johnny say to her, anyway, back in the apartment. Dark thoughts shifted through Roy’s head as he merged the call with his earlier argument with his wife. He could feel his displeasure changing to anger at both his wife and his partner. Definitely not warranted, especially with Johnny, but Roy couldn’t help himself.

He watched, a scowl on his face, as his gangly partner caught up to the ambulance gurney and assisted the two attendants with maneuvering the stretcher down the cement stairs. He kept several paces behind the now quiet woman, perfectly content with keeping in the background and not engaging her in any conversation. He couldn’t help but compare her to JoAnne; this woman was loud and annoying with her voice, whereas Jo kept her voice low and flat when she argued. There was never any screaming in the DeSoto household, oh no, the sarcasm and bitterness could drip just as well when hurled in a quiet, biting tone. Jo had that perfected to an art, maybe it was something passed down from generations of the McClure women, because her mother sure had it down. Come to think of it, Jo’s sister, Eileen, did a pretty impressive job of it too. Roy had reluctantly observed several of her fights with her laid back accountant husband. Maybe he and Eileen’s husband, Larry, should get together and call their father in law and get some pointers on how to deal with these fiery, stubborn women.

Following in the squad behind the ambulance, Roy chewed on his insecurities like a dog with a meat laden bone. Always confident in his job abilities and the way he handled situations, he could feel that certainty eroding away. All from a stupid quarrel; what was it that made this altercation any different from the dozens they had engaged in before? Roy couldn’t pin it down, and tried again to force the bitter fight from his mind. He backed the squad in next to the ambulance and jumped out, carefully closing the door. The two men were just lowering the gurney to the ground and snapping the supports in place. Johnny jumped out behind them holding the glass IV bottle aloft with one hand and the drug box clutched in the other. The HT was strapped over his shoulder; he pointedly ignored Roy as he brushed past him and slipped through the double glass entrance doors.

Roy remained standing in place for a moment, then finally reached into the hearse like ambulance and retrieved the bio-phone. He slotted it back into the squad’s compartment and slowly trudged into the Emergency room, heading for the nurses’ station. Seeing Dixie working on paperwork there slowed his faltering steps even more, until he realized he was drawing attention to himself, including that of the head nurse. He arrived at the desk and leaned against it, rubbing a hand over his face and finally forcing himself to meet the steady gaze of his friend.

“Roy,” she said softly, her voice pleasant as always. Actually, it was downright sexy sometimes and he listened in distraction as she asked him a question, wondering how Dr. Brackett could even work with that voice. Rumor was that they were no longer dating, but it wasn’t exactly something that you could clarify, was it?

“Roy DeSoto…earth to Roy!” Dixie raised that sultry voice a little higher and finally caught the musing paramedic’s attention.

“Huh? Sorry Dix….” And there it was again, that “not listening” accusation rearing its ugly head and invading the verbal space between them; it was definitely correct this time

“What’s wrong? You seem very distracted today.”

DeSoto shook his head and let out a gusty sigh, contemplating the possibility of confiding his problems to the sympathetic nurse. Dixie waited patiently, propping up her head with a long nailed hand and gazing at him as he struggled with his dilemma.

“My wife and I…” his confession ended abruptly as his dark haired colleague came barreling out of the treatment room, an enormous grin lighting up his face.

“Hi ya, Dix! Roy, do you want to know how that guy kept his cool the whole time?” Ignoring his partner’s annoyed shake of his head the other man continued on, laughing softly as he told the bemused head nurse about the couple’s loud fighting.

Leaning in on the counter, Johnny lowered his voice even more and whispered, holding up two fingers as he did so. “Number one – he was wearing earplugs! Earplugs, can you believe that?”

Dixie smiled and laid a steadying hand on Gage’s blue jacketed arm, as he rocked backwards on his heels. “And just what was number two, John?”

“Meditation, he’s into meditation. So with the plugs in his ears, and focusing in on himself, you know, all that stuff, he keeps himself sane.” Satisfaction and awe laced his words as he flung up both hands in obvious glee, then just as quickly turned his head and stared after the young nurse who had just walked past. “Wow….I’ll be right back, get our supplies, would ya Roy?”

Not waiting for an answer, the young Romeo rocketed down the hall in pursuit of the cute, red headed nurse. Dixie giggled and smiled fondly; Roy simply stared down at the counter, a blank look adorning his face.

“And there he goes again, our forever madly in love paramedic,” Dixie said, watching as the new nurse, Gage in tow, disappeared around the corner. She focused her attention back on the other medic, her amused smile sliding away as she observed his distracted air and watched him trace a pattern on the counter with one finger. “What were you saying about JoAnne?”

Roy lifted his head and shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter, she just said something that I’m beginning to think is true.”

“Well, what did she say?” Dixie tried to draw him into conversation, glancing at her watch and wondering if she had time to pull the distraught man into the lounge for some liquid gold and healing conversation.

“Dix, do you think that I listen to people? I mean, I just missed most of the conversation between you and Johnny…..”

“For heaven’s sakes, Roy, I think we all have selective hearing when it comes to John, some of us maybe more than others. Don’t use our fearless friend as an example in that area; you would be doing yourself a disservice. John is John, we have to take his couple of quirky little habits and douse them with all of his excellent attributes….. You’ve been a paramedic, for what, a year now?” At his nod of assent, she continued. “Don’t you think that listening to people is one of the necessary qualifications to being a good paramedic? And these are Kel’s exact words – partners DeSoto and Gage are one of the best paramedic teams out there, IF not the best, period.” She slapped a hand down on the counter in emphasis; Roy was relieved that this time he did not flinch or jump at the sudden noise.

“Thanks Dix, for putting that in perspective. But still, maybe at home…” he trailed off, blinking rapidly as that same reel of tape kept replaying in his mind.

Dix pointed a finger at him and shook it. “All married couples have arguments, Mr. DeSoto. Why is this one rattling your cage so much?”

“That’s the big question, isn’t it? I don’t know, Dix, I keep asking myself the same thing. Maybe because there’s some truth in it, perhaps a whole lot of truth.”

Dixie leaned slightly to see around Roy as a doctor poked his head out of one of the treatment rooms and beckoned her with a hand. She slid off the stool and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “All I know is that you are a good man, Roy, and that JoAnne is lucky to have you in her life. Things are often said in the heat of an argument that are untrue or take on gigantic proportions of their own. Don’t let this one silly quarrel mess up all the good things that you have in your life, including your marriage and your partnership with Johnny. Speaking of Johnny…”

She smiled at Roy and moved toward the exam room, waving at Gage who was strolling back towards them, swinging the HT in his hand and grinning. Whatever has transpired between him and the nurse must have been good; he seemed to have forgotten his earlier annoyance with Roy as he slapped him on the shoulder and bent to pick up the drug box from where he had dropped it earlier.

“Are you ready to roll, partner?” Gage queried. He waited impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and swiveling his head like an owl to watch all the foot traffic streaming down the hall. Roy stared at him for a moment, chewing over the head nurse’s words and debating whether or not to apologize. One thing about the younger man, he supposed that it belonged in his good traits, was that he was quick to forget and forgive the actions and words of other people, especially with his friends. Roy had seen it many times and often marveled at his partner’s good nature; it assuredly did not fit within his own personality, of that he was sure. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a strongpoint of Jo’s either. Maybe that was why some of their fights seemed to carry on – neither one of them could forget or forgive.

“I, uh, didn’t get the supplies. We aren’t that low on anything, are we?”

“Nah, we’ll hold just fine. Last shift must have stocked up right before they got off.” The men strolled off side by side down the hall. Dixie, exiting the room right after they passed the door, caught Johnny’s voice and smiled as she stopped and watched them leave.

“Earplugs, isn’t that someting? I mean, what a great idea, maybe that’s what you need to…..”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

An uneasy silence settled between the occupants of the squad as they neared the Carson station. Johnny had enthusiastically filled Roy in on his encounter with the new nurse; this chance meeting had resulted in a date planned for their next day off together. That subject exhausted, he had tried to engage Roy in further conversation but had drifted into a sullen reticence when DeSoto had relapsed into his grunted one word answers. Well, ok, maybe he shouldn’t have used the words earplugs, your wife, and the answer to your problems all in one sentence, but still…. The dark haired medic gazed out the window of the passenger door, carefully not looking in the direction of his partner, with his arm laid out along the door and fingers curled tightly around the frame of the opened wing window.

When the squad backed to a stop, John jumped out and waited only long enough to observe which direction DeSoto was headed; Roy stalked into the day room and Gage immediately trekked towards the locker room. He needed a little space from his moody partner before he ended up booting him in the rear. He had already mistakenly put the other foot into his mouth with his blurted out comments and he so needed to keep both of those lethal weapons firmly planted on the floor where they belonged. He paused when Chet appeared in the doorway of the dorm; he rested a hand on the passenger door of the Crown, peering quizzically towards the other fireman when he whistled at him and waved frantically. “Pssst, Gage, where’s Roy?”

Johnny jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. The curly haired man immediately beckoned Gage to follow him back into the sleeping area and despite serious misgivings as to the wisdom of doing anything that Chet asked, the curious paramedic strolled after him.

Kelly was standing by the side of his bed, hands on hips. Once Johnny stopped at the end of his bunk, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a well-worn magazine.

“Listen, Gage, Roy’s still in his funk, right?” At his nod, Chet continued. “That’s what I thought. Now here in this magazine is a great article that tells guys what to do and say when they’ve had an argument with their other half. Either you need to get DeSoto to read this, or you need to read it and enlighten your partner on what he needs to do.”

Chet thrust the literature towards Johnny, inadvertently causing a three page centerfold to drop open. Seeing what was displayed on the undulating pages caused Gage to take a huge step backwards, hands raised to fend off the rapidly approaching magazine.

“Chet!” He hissed, voice lowered to an outraged whisper. “Cap sees you with that he’ll hang you from the hose tower, by that caterpillar mustache of yours, upside down!”

“What’s the big deal? You have a pinup in your locker, most of the single guys in the department do!” Chet retorted, voice rising slightly, as he clumsily folded and tucked the pages up into the magazine. John tipped his head to read the cover, and then retreated farther backwards, finally dropping onto the end of his partner’s bed. He clapped a hand onto his forehead in exasperation.

“Kelly, the pictures in the lockers have some sort of clothing on, and they’re not doing….doing that! Where’d you get that from anyways? Bodacious Babes… what a name!”

Kelly snickered and closed the gap separating the two men, waving the magazine. “My brothers, babe, my brothers. I’m telling you, there really is a great article in here about relationships. You gotta read it!”

He thumbed open the magazine to an article and tossed the magazine into Gage’s lap. The other man immediately recoiled and gingerly lifted the offending thing by a corner; he winged it back towards Chet.

“Get it outa here! Man, I don’t believe you! Guys don’t READ these things Kelly!!” Johnny wiped his hands down the front of his pants and stood up, shouldering past his crewmate who stood, mouth open, holding the now slightly rumpled publication in confusion.

“Geesh, I read them…..” he griped, moving back to his bed and sliding the magazine back under his pillow. “Try to help someone out, and see what happens!”

He paused, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. He cast a furtive glance towards the doors and pulled the magazine back out. He flipped rapidly through the pages, stalling for several seconds at the centerfold and studying it intently. Slapping it shut, he pushed it out of sight back under his pillow. “Ok, so maybe he does have a point…”

After scrubbing his hands and trying to banish the unpleasant thoughts that had prompted this desperate action, Johnny decided to head for the kitchen and try to make amends with his troubled friend. When he entered the kitchen, Marco was sprawled on the couch reading the newspaper. Stoker was standing at the counter, peeling potatoes, while Roy sat to his left at the head of the table, cutting up already peeled carrots. Their captain was standing, one shoulder leaning on the wall, and conversing with someone on one of the black station phones.

John grabbed a carrot and sprawled in the chair across from Roy. Chomping the orange vegetable in half, he chewed while scrutinizing the chopping and peeling going on. Tilting back in his chair on two legs, he angled his head to view their captain and paused in his carrot crunching to hear the conversation.

“Look, honey, start over again from the beginning…..yep, that’s right…… **_Whose woods these are I think I know_** …ok, go ahead…. **_Whose woods these are I think I know_** **.** Right…… **_His house is in the village, though_** _….._ good, that’s right…keep going….”

Swallowing hard, Gage set down the piece of carrot still in his fingers and slouched down in his still angled chair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the words of the poem, silently blending the fragmented lines together to create a poem. Somewhere, somehow he had heard this before, maybe in school….. Silence reigned over the room as all the firemen slowed their activities to a bare, quiet minimum in order to eavesdrop on the memorization lesson, entranced by the unusual words being spoken in the station.

Chet froze in the doorway, the retort on his lips about the bitten piece of carrot lying in solitude in front of Gage effectively silenced, as he took in the scene before him. Marco was sitting forward on the ugly black couch, a newspaper lowered and resting on his forearms but being completely ignored, as he gazed in interest towards the table. Mike was leaning against the cabinets facing Chet with a leg casually crossed, a half peeled potato in one hand, and a peeler held aloft in the other. He too was staring forward with his head slightly tilted, listening intently.

Roy, however, was studiously studying the expanse of table in front of him. A pile of chopped and peeled carrots lay abandoned in the triangular shape provided by his hands, which were lying motionless and palms down in front of him. Kelly studied his still form for a moment, thinking that John really should have read that article about relationships because he was definitely going to need it before this shift was over. At least Roy wasn’t talking to himself anymore, but Chet wondered if that was a good thing. Maybe not, because that meant that good old Roy was probably internalizing everything again, and would definitely be taking flight on a guilt trip soon to parts unknown. And even though the guilt didn’t involve his partner this time, Johnny would still be going along for the ride, no doubt hanging on for dear life onto the wing of the plane instead of being safely secured into a first class seat. Just the way those two were, Chet reflected; when one of them ran into a problem, the other one would undoubtedly be there to help drag him out of it.

Shaking himself out of his contemplation, Chet turned his attention to what everybody in the room, well almost everyone, seemed to be fixated on. He realized that Captain Stanley was holding an apparently lengthy conversation with one of his three kids; judging by the one sided conversation he could hear the kid was trying to memorize a poem for school and their Cap was displaying an amazing amount of patience in assisting the endeavor. The lineman listened for a moment to the words but after hearing the same line repeated three times lost his own restraint and shuffled forward into the room.

The Cap’s eyes lifted briefly in acknowledgement of the entrance of Kelly. He then settled his shoulder further into the wall in the small space that graced the wall between the shelf that jutted out below the two phones and the heating vent. He rested an elbow on the shelf and with a wince switched the phone to his other ear. Chet smiled at him and detoured around the table, heading towards the coffee pot and the liquid caffeine that was always waiting on the stove. Stoker slid sideways to allow Chet to grab a mug out of the drainer, still maintaining his leaning, crossed legged pose. Once Chet moved away from the counter he did resume the potato peeling, however, but kept his body turned sideways towards their captain so that he could still hear the conversation.

Coffee poured and sliding down his throat in a wave of heat, Chet swallowed and stared for a moment at Gage, slyly contemplating how much pressure it would take to tip the chair over with the paramedic still planted in it. The youngest member of the A shift had slouched even further down into the chair, arms crossed and eyes closed. Lifting the mug halfway to his lips, Kelly paused and absently stroked the side of his moustache with one finger, wondering exactly what the other man was thinking about. Why, in fact, was the whole bunch of self-admitted macho firemen so engrossed in the simple words of a poem?

He shook his head and moved forward, stopping at the chair in between the work partners. He rested his hand on the top of the chair and looked to his right at DeSoto, who was still fixated on the seemingly fascinating wood pattern of the table. God only knows what’s going through THAT man’s thoughts, Chet concluded, could be anything from the poem to how many flowers he was going to have to purchase for his wife after their apparent tiff that morning. There was no way he was going to try and plumb the depths of a married man’s intellect, no sir!

Gage on the other hand, though…..Chet turned his head to the left to peer again at John, who still remained lost in his own little world. Probably a world of wheels, gears, and women, not necessarily in that order, Chet speculated; there was no way the often tongue tied Gage was wrangling those rhyming phrases about in his head, unless maybe he was trying to memorize them to impress some chick? Chet snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth as he realized that Roy, at least, had heard his gleeful noise over the droning voice of their leader. He immediately pasted an innocent look on his face and lifted the cup to his mouth.

The sandy haired man slowly turned his head and glared at Kelly, annoyance splashed all over his face. It took only thirty seconds of unblinking scrutiny at the other man before Chet sheepishly slunk off towards the couch, taking his coffee with him. Roy looked back down at the table, then finally moved a hand and swiped it down his face, feeling the start of a headache lightly caressing his temples. He slowly pushed back his chair and got to his feet, carefully picking up the newspaper that the carrots were piled on. He dumped them into the pan that Stoker had sitting on the counter and tossed the paper into the trash can, keeping his back to the room for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. When he turned around he swept the room with a cursory glance, noting with displeasure that his counterpart was watching him with obvious concern. He tried to stifle the sigh that had been relentlessly stalking him since leaving home, but knew he was unsuccessful when he heard the thump of Johnny’s chair hitting the floor as he went behind him.

The loud noise of the tones stirred the other four men into action. As the words of the call registered, the paramedics stopped their forward momentum and stepped out of the way as the engine crew donned their coats and climbed into the Firecoach to respond to a dumpster fire. Both men stood staring out into the street as the engine left the driveway; Johnny slapped the button to lower the door and then slowly turned to look at his partner.

“You going to tell me what’s really going on with you, Roy?” The younger man moved forward and leaned on the grill of the squad, absently rubbing a finger across the waxed surface of the hood before lifting his head and fixing his gaze on his friend. “Just seems like there’s more to it than a fight with JoAnne….”

“Look Johnny, I’m sorry, ok? I know I’ve been out of line…there’s just, I don’t know…there’s nothing else, just the quarrel.” Roy paused, dropping his eyes as John continued staring at him with an odd look, as if challenging the validity of the explanation. Shaking his head in denial, Gage leaned forward across the hood and pointed his finger at him.

“Nah, I’m not buying it,” he declared in a slow drawl, punctuating his words by lowering and stabbing the same finger into the glossy paint; Roy was sure if he had been closer that lancing phalange would be poking him in the chest.

He drew himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and trying to look intimidating. He wanted to back his disbelieving partner into a corner and make him believe he was telling the truth. Only, Johnny was having none of that. A sly smile slithered across his face as he correctly read the other man’s posture. He leisurely straightened up, crossing his arms across his chest and planting his legs wide. It was kinda hard to appear threatening when the guy standing across from you was the exact same height, and had a shit eating grin plastered across his face, Roy decided. Forgetting for a moment his earlier insecurities, he relaxed his rigid posture and leaned against the bay wall, his own smile breaking loose and finally making an appearance.

“Something Jo said has been bothering me all day,” he finally admitted, unconsciously mimicking Gage’s stance by crossing his arms in a defensive gesture, the brief smile already gone as he reflected on the words hurled about early that morning. He pulled away from the wall, dropped his head, and contemplated the cement floor, missing Johnny’s wince of sympathy and understanding.

“The comment about you not being a good listener?” John queried softly, leaning forward once again on the hood and propping his head up on one hand, elbow digging in and smudging the wax.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Johnny sucked in a deep breath, carefully considering his next words. Judging by the irritable mood swings the other man had been riding on all day, he figured there were good odds that whatever words left his mouth would be misunderstood or definitely twisted around. “So…… are you thinking that what she accused you of is true?”

“Guess so,” came the terse reply.

Instantly forgetting his earlier resolve to tread carefully, Johnny jumped into his friend’s emotional river with both feet. “Uh huh, and for some weird reason you’ve been obsessing about this, this, er exaggeration all day? So what exactly explains the paranoia and jumpiness you’ve been throwing about all day? You haven’t exactly been the model paramedic since you stomped into the station this morning.”

Lulled into a thirty second respite of complacency, Roy was startled by the rising tone of his partner’s voice and the accusations that he knew were true. But still….. He threw up his head and gaped at John, denial and anger ready to spew forth at his insensitive friend. He paused, uncertainty clouding his features as he continued staring forward, noting with slight detachment that his so called buddy had his arms folded once again and had one foot resting on the bumper. There was definite stubbornness evident in every line of his posture as he glared back at Roy.

Swallowing hard in rising dismay and disbelief in the happenings of the last eight hours, including his own reactions and most assuredly his galloping, detouring thoughts, DeSoto slumped back hard against the brick wall and did a slow slide downwards until his rump hit the unyielding floor. He heard the slapping footsteps as Gage rounded the squad and came to a halt in front of him, seeing only the blue clad legs until Gage hunkered down and the rest of him dropped into view.

“Sorry, Roy, I did it again, didn’t I? Open mouth, insert giant foot, and then remember a little late that it’s your problem we’re talking about here, not mine…sorry. In my book, Pally, you listen just fine. You’re a damn good paramedic and fireman, and from all accounts you’re an even better father. As far as being a husband, well I guess that’s between you and JoAnne, but I think that in a couple of days this will all blow over and you guys will, ah, kiss and make up, ya know?”

Speech delivered, John shifted back on his heels and leaned his weight on the rescue truck, carefully observing his friend. Roy looked back, considering the rapidly spoken but unquestionably sincere words. He worried his lip between his teeth and held out his hand.

“Yeah, ok. You’re right, unusually so. Help me up, will you Junior?”

Gage twisted his facial features in feigned hurt, an eyebrow rising in what Roy had silently named the “Spock maneuver.” He sprang to his feet, however, and grabbed the proffered peace offering and pulled DeSoto to his feet with an exaggerated grunt. Roy simply smiled at the not so subtle reference to his weight and figured he had it coming.

“You want some aspirin for that headache?”

“How do you know that I have a headache?” Roy queried, somewhat mystified, as both men turned into the dayroom.

“Come on, man, we’ve been partners for what, about a year now? I can read you like a book. In fact, except for today, I probably know you better then J…..ah, never mind. I’ll go get some…ummm…..aspirin, yeah, aspirin.” Gage beat a hasty retreat out of the room he had just entered and Roy headed for the coffee pot, shaking his head in amusement. Gage was right; he undeniably had the knack of saying the wrong things at the worst times. And yet Dix had pegged Johnny so very accurately when she had summarized the man in a few brief sentences. He might have his awkward and unquestionably strange moments, but the good far outweighed the peculiar.

He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into them, shaking the pot to see how much was lurking in the bottom. Replacing the pot, he picked up his cup and took a tentative sip, hoping his brave voyage into the unknown wouldn’t result in a mouthful of scalding tar. He sighed in appreciation as the strong but decidedly coffee tasting liquid flooded his tastebuds.

Staring around the slightly disorganized area once more, he contemplated the rectangular shaped room that was a big part of his second home. During their downtime, if they weren’t sleeping or working on chores, this was where they gathered. Six men, all with different personalities and varied pasts, working and relaxing together for twenty four or even forty eight hours straight. Deep within himself, Roy knew that if he wasn’t a team player and a good listener to his crewmates, he would not be here right now. Johnny was completely right.

Roy slammed his fist down on the table. “I am a good listener! Damn it JoAnne, look what you started!”

Sighing, Roy backed up to the table and sat on it, cradling his head in his hands. So, he did his job well here at the station, but what about at home? What was it that was bothering him so much, or maybe bothering his wife this time around? He rubbed his forehead in exasperation, feeling the pounding behind his eyes intensifying. Just where the hell was his apparently lost partner with the aspirin, or had Gage forgotten what he had gone to retrieve?

A thump and a startled yell interrupted his reverie, and he slid off the table in alarm and loped towards the locker room, the muffled sounds emanating from the locker area beckoning him like a trail of breadcrumbs…….

 

 

_A/N: Word in italics and bold above are from Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.”_

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Palm flat against the door, Roy pushed the door inward and immediately met solid resistance, as well as a muffled but clearly audible “stop!” He pulled the door with him as he hurriedly backed up and into the bay, then shouldered his way through the opening. Panic flashed across his face as he took in the sight of his partner sprawled on his back and wiping at something red that was dripping from his face and neck and staining his blue shirt.

Taking a fast step forward, DeSoto shuddered in relief as he realized the red liquid wasn’t blood; the color and consistency were wrong. He squatted down next to Johnny and looked him over, before posing the question he was sure that he already knew the answer to.

“So what happened? Locker rigged? How’d you end up on the floor?”

“How do you think that I ended up here? Yeah, some joker set my locker up, AGAIN, and Mr. Nice Guy here, who is looking for aspirin for his grumpy partner, got the crap scared out of him, jumped backwards, and of course fell over the bench,” Gage paused his sarcastic tirade to tentatively lick at the red substance he was trying to rub off his face. “Popsicle?! Geesh! Why did he have to use cherry flavored? And by the way, your aspirin is over there somewhere.”

He waved vaguely in the direction of the sinks and gave up swiping at his face. He laid his head back on the floor and glared up at Roy, who hadn’t moved from his position. “Jus’ go find the bottle, already! I’m fine, just fine!”

Roy shook his head but did as directed. He could still hear the low mutterings of his partner, discoursing on the choice of flavor used for the sticky trap. He located the runaway bottle under the sinks and shook several aspirin into his hand, then tossed them into his mouth. Using his hand for a cup, he swallowed them down with cold water from the running tap; he shut off the water and dried his hands with a paper towel and peered in the mirror.

Aside from folding his arms behind his head, John appeared not to have moved. He was staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the last few drops of sugary syrup sliding off his face and hitting the cement beneath him. His mouth had thinned to a tight line, and he had stopped his one sided conversation. Roy watched him a moment, wondering if Johnny had cracked the back of his head on the floor when he fell or if it had been his partner’s noggin he had inadvertently used as a door stop; he wasn’t used to the other man being still unless he was mulling over something serious. He moved over to the narrow bench and dropped down onto it, facing Gage. He reached behind him and accurately set the bottle down in John’s locker.

“Thanks for the aspirin.”

“Sure, no problem.”

There was a long, comfortable silence; each man lost in their own thoughts. Johnny finally uncrossed his arms from behind his head and slowly sat up. Looking at the play of expressions flitting across John’s face, Roy mentally compared his colleague’s thoughts to a train. The train had obviously switched tracks and was steaming in a different direction from only seconds before judging by the way Johnny was sizing him up.

“Listen Roy,” he stopped and winced at his word choice; DeSoto regarded him impassively.

“Why don’t you just call JoAnne and talk to her…tell her….tell her you love her or somethin’…” John’s words faltered and stopped when his friend’s expression didn’t change. He dropped his head, shoulders slumping, as he stared at the floor.

Deciding to end the other man’s suffering, Roy let a small smile crawl across his face, stood up, and stretched. “That’s two good thoughts that you’ve had today, Junior. Maybe I’ll do just that.”

“All right then!” A full watt smile lit up Gage’s face and he rocketed to his feet, fingers busy unbuttoning his stained shirt. He jumped over the bench, untucking his shirt, and then paused. “Wait a minute. Junior, there’s that again. And what exactly do you mean by two good.…?”

Roy smiled at his own wit, ignored the outraged, dangling question, and escaped down the aisle between the lockers, deciding to use the phone in the dorm for a little more privacy. It was time to talk to his wife, and hopefully clear up this misunderstanding. Otherwise, he was going to have to ask Cap to call in a replacement; mentally, he didn’t think he was capable of continuing the shift. He paused before entering their sleeping quarters and turned back around.

He poked his head around the corner of the lockers. Johnny was standing, one foot propped up on the bench, untying his shoe. He pulled it off, tossed the shoe down, dropped his leg, and elevated his other foot, preparing to repeat the whole process. He had resumed his monologue, his low voiced mutterings stopping Roy in his forward progress so that he could listen.

“It’s gotta be Kelly doing this…wonder how he set that up….two can play games……oh, you just wait Chet…..” Gage paused, gazing in disbelief at the snapped shoelace in his hand.

“Johnny?”

“Yeah?” Dropping the lace down in disgust, the dark haired man turned his head and stared at Roy, hands dropping loosely at his sides, one shoed foot still on the bench. Roy’s lips curled in amusement at the wet, dark locks on his partner’s forehead and around his ears plastered stickily to his skin. Gage was probably going to regret letting his hair grow that long if they got toned out before he hit the shower.

“What’s wrong with cherry flavor?”

“What’s wrong with cherry flavor?” John parroted back, his voice rising slightly. “What…where’d THAT come from?” His expression mirrored the disbelief in his tone, implying that a question about the red, melted sweet treat shouldn’t have stopped Roy in his solitary trek towards the instrument of his doom or salvation.

Roy shrugged, a bit sheepishly. “Just popped in my head, that’s all.” He didn’t add that the random question had probably jumped into his head because it meant delaying the phone call he knew he had to make; his partner, strangely perceptive for this never ending shift, seemed to have figured that one out.

Both men paused in their conversation as they heard the voice of their captain over the speaker, making the engine available. Gage waved a hand, as if acknowledging the whereabouts of their invisible crewmates, before proceeding with his explanation.

“Oh, well, you remember about a month or so ago, before Captain Stanley came on? I got that radiation poisoning and spent a couple of nights in Rampart?” At Roy’s nod, the younger man continued, his questioning tone changing to one laced with revulsion. “Let’s just say that after about four hours of those sweet nurses feeding me cherry Jell-O, cherry popsicles and all that other liquid garbage, and I spewing it all up as fast as they poured it down me, I find it hard to be in the same room with it! I was glad to see that IV they finally put in me!”

Johnny shook his head and rubbed absently at his left arm where the IV had been inserted. He dropped his foot from the bench and kicked off the remaining shoe, before dropping his hands to his belt and yanking at the buckle.

Roy grimaced, recalling John’s aversion to needles and thinking that if he welcomed the IV, then he must have been in desperate straits indeed with the vomiting. He vividly recalled that night and the extra hit of radiation Johnny had taken trying to untangle the victim from the shard of metal imbedded in his pant leg. He had been able to go home, having received less than a quarter of the roentgens his partner had, but Johnny had lost a good seven or eight pounds of his body weight before he finally stabilized. Even then, Johnny had told him later, he hadn’t been able to eat for another two days.

Noticing his partner had stopped in his undressing and was now swallowing convulsively, hand going up to his mouth and skin paling, Roy abruptly backed up and disappeared back around the corner, beating a hasty retreat. Apparently his careless question had triggered a reflexive reaction; he had inadvertently stirred up the cherry flavored memory that Johnny wanted no part of. And that, to be honest, he wanted no part of, either. Feeling a twinge of remorse, Roy hesitated in the doorway of the dorm, trying to pick up on what was going on behind him. Not hearing the door slam on the little room where the toilet resided but instead hearing the clang of John’s metal belt buckle hitting the floor, he sighed in relief; he sincerely hoped his younger counterpart hadn’t eaten much breakfast, just in case.

Pushing the distracting thoughts away and trying to focus on the task ahead of him, he trudged, head down, into the dorm like a guilty man headed for his day of reckoning. He sighed as he sat down in the chair by the small desk, and laid his hand on the black receiver. He paused to look over at the clock on the wall, trying to calculate his wife’s daily routine and wondering if she would even be home. Finally admitting to himself that she would probably be, and that he really needed to quit stalling, he dialed the number and listened intently. On the fourth ring he heard the telltale click, and then the cautious voice of the only woman that he had ever loved.

After her second hello, Roy finally pulled himself together and squeaked out her name. “JoAnne…..”

There was a hesitant pause in which Roy felt himself hold his breath, then his wife said his name in a whisper, causing him to release the air in an explosive sigh. “It’s me…just wanted to call you, see if you were….all right…”

_“I’m fine. I just feel rather stupid, and sorry for the things I said earlier. I didn’t mean those things, Roy, it was just the heat of the moment,”_ came the soft apology.

“I’m just as guilty, Jo,” Roy quickly volunteered, feeling the blood pounding in his veins begin to slow down as he realized his wife meant to make up. He propped up an elbow on the desk and leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand, listening intently to his wife’s words, and responding quietly. The conversation ended with a promise to call her when his shift ended in the morning; the neighbor would come over and watch the kids while Jo met Roy for breakfast at their favorite little restaurant. He smiled at her parting words.

“ _I’ll wait for your call, Roy, for as long as it takes.”_

Gently placing the phone back in its cradle, the paramedic lifted his head and stared at the piece of notebook paper under his elbow, unnoticed until now. In a slanting but well written cursive handwriting were the words to the poem that their captain had been reciting over the phone with one of his kids. Curious, DeSoto picked up the slightly tattered paper and began reading. He was pretty sure that he had memorized this poem years ago, probably an assignment for one of his classes; his reading was interrupted by memories of reciting the poetry with his girlfriend, now his wife, curled up together on a flowery patterned couch in front of a silent, black and white television.

Her parent’s house, he recalled, in the rec room the couple spent many hours in, carefully, cautiously exploring their building relationship. Even knowing that her parents were only steps away, as well as her noisy siblings, it was here that Roy and JoAnne started on the hopefully, never ending, path of their lives together. He smiled, vividly recalling the feel of her silky, auburn hued hair, long then, running through his fingers, the comforting weight of her leaning back against him, trusting him and putting her faith in him….it had been at that exact moment that he had realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the vibrant, beautiful, both inside and out, woman encircled in his arms.

Leaning back in the chair, still holding the words over the desk, Roy closed his eyes; he let the image flood over him and wash away the bitter fight from that morning. Could it be that easy, he wondered? To erase those angry insults and the memory of it? Probably not, but it was a start. They really did have time, and marital experience, on their side after all. He could ask Cap if he could have the poem, or borrow it or something, or go to the bookstore and buy it. Thoughts of reading the poetry with Joanne, sitting on their own plaid couch in front of the fireplace, and rekindling their marriage was definitely lifting his mood; his face flushed as his musings wandered farther.

The long, drawn out blare of the tones disturbed and effectively ended his anticipation. He leapt to his feet and trotted into the apparatus bay. As he rounded the back of the truck, he saw Johnny sliding to a halt in front of the radio, a wet paper towel clutched in his hand. As his partner acknowledged the call, Roy opened his door but stopped as Gage hooked the mike, glanced hurriedly at the wall map, then started for the passenger side of the squad.

“Johnny…..” Roy slid a hand over his mouth to hide his smile as he pointed with his free hand towards the other man’s shoeless feet, curiously reminiscent of Johnny’s actions that morning with the very articulate wife. Gage looked down and conveyed his feelings with a very effective one word squawk of profanity, before running back into the locker room and grabbing his shoes. Starting up the engine, the older medic patiently waited while his disheveled friend sprinted back across the bay, grabbed his blue jacket that was draped over the mirror, jumped into the cab, and pulled on the jacket to cover up his stained shirt. He shoved his feet into his boots and breathlessly gave Roy directions, his head bobbing up to check for traffic then disappearing again as he tried to re-lace his boot with the shorter piece. Finally appeased with his repair job, he sat fully up in the seat and focused on the damp square still clutched in his hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, DeSoto caught glimpses of Johnny scrubbing with the wet paper towel at the sugary trails down his face, his helmet pushed back on his head as he tried to erase the barely visible ant bait. Roy’s humor disappeared as fast as it had arrived as he recalled his treatment of and attitude towards John for most of the day. He still wasn’t sure why he had directed his unreasonable anger and bitterness towards his counterpart, especially when the younger man was not only his partner, but his friend. An apology was definitely in order, even if John seemed to have wiped the day’s events from his memory. Roy wished he could be as forgetful and forgiving.

He tapped the steering wheel impatiently, waiting for the clueless traffic to clear out of the intersection before proceeding forward. He didn’t need any further directions to reach the scene; the plumes of black smoke had the attention of both men as they approached the site of the terrifying but mesmerizing tendrils of fire beckoning them forward. Located back from the street in an older, industrial cluster of buildings, the flames were hungrily devouring at least two of the wooden structures, and seemed destined to consume the additional four buildings that sat abandoned about two hundred yards away.

Head slightly cocked to hear the radio chatter, DeSoto parked the squad as directed while also noting that the incident had advanced to a second alarm. Their own engine crew had been called in, and was less than three minutes away. He grabbed his turnout coat from the compartment and shrugged into it, fastening it before reaching in once again and latching on to his scba gear. His partner’s hand appeared beside his own and they simultaneously dragged the heavy cylinders out and yanked them on, fastening the straps and testing the air masks in smooth, well-practiced motions.

“Ready?” Roy asked, turning to look at Gage as he dropped his mask and pulled his helmet back on his head. Johnny looked up and flashed him a tight smile as he wiggled his shoulders to settle the gear. Roy noticed that, as usual, the chin strap of the other man’s helmet was clinging on for dear life at the edge of John’s chin.

“I was born ready!” Came his partner’s cocky reply, adrenaline already coursing through both firemen as they abandoned the safety of their truck and headed for the battalion chief.


	5. Chapter 5

Three hours later the oxygen sucking fire was taking its last breaths. Roy dropped in exhaustion onto the back bumper of their truck, wiping at his sweating face with a bare hand as his other still gloved hand felt blindly for the canteen Johnny had dropped somewhere between them. He was forced to open his burning, watering eyes when the quest proved fruitless. He was startled to see it hovering inches away from his face; he grabbed it eagerly, unscrewed the cap, and tilted it towards his waiting mouth.

As he gulped the refreshing beverage, he skewed his eyes sideways and observed Gage’s arm still suspended in air. He pushed it down gently and was rewarded with a slight head bob from his equally exhausted friend. Johnny was sitting on the other end of the bumper, back flattened against the red paint, head covering up the 51 in its little yellow circle, and eyes closed. His hair was dripping suspiciously, and Roy gave the canteen a questioning shake. His doubts confirmed, Roy scooted sideways on the bumper and pushed the vessel back into his partner’s lax hand.

“Drink it this time, instead of dumping it on your head…” he cautioned as John peeled an eye open and gave him an aggravated stare. The other eye opened, ending the hazy illusion of a cyclops that Roy was seeing through his streaming eyes.

“I DID drink it,” he rasped out in indignation, tightening his hand on the canteen and giving it his own shake. He screwed the lid back on and dropped it between them once again. “I dunked my head, ah, never mind…”

He closed his eyes once more and slapped his head back against the squad. Roy sighed and did the same, wondering if it was worth the effort to get up and rummage in the squad for the saline to wash his eyes out. He opened his eyes once more and negated the thought as it seemed that his own tears had done the job. He glanced over at his associate and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating the wisdom of bringing up his earlier behavior.

“Johnny…”

“Still here.” The short reply came slow and lazy, almost as if Gage was falling asleep where he sat.

“Jo and I kinda made up. We’re going to get together after shift and work this out the rest of the way.”

“That’s nice.” This time the slightly slurred words came out of the side of John’s mouth, as if it was too much work to form them. His head turned towards Roy but then he thumped it back against the metal.

“The way I’ve been acting all day,” Roy continued, but he cut off his apology at John’s limp but clearly dismissive hand wave.

“S’okay, Roy. Let’s just enjoy our break. I for one am not looking forward to cleanup on this one… those old buildings,” he lamented hoarsely, raising the hand slightly off the bumper again and flicking it at Roy in a rude “shut up” gesture that the other man clearly understood.

Roy pushed himself off the bumper and stumbled his way around the pile of yellow, used air tanks the two paramedics had left in an untidy heap off to the side of the squad. He pulled off his turnout coat and draped it over the side mirror before opening the door and dropping down onto the seat, legs hanging out. He yawned and lay back on the bench, closing his eyes. A few minutes of rest, and he would be good to go….

He was startled awake by a slapping noise and sat up with a confused jerk. His captain, whacking his hand on the hood of their squad as he fronted it, appeared at the door to the squad and poked his head through the open window. He leaned a turnout coated arm on the frame as he gazed at his disoriented paramedic.

“You ok Roy? Ready to go back in?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I was a little more tired than I realized…” Roy replied, wiping a hand across his face; he realized a second later that the involuntary gesture had been a mistake when his hand came away soot covered. He grimaced, thinking about what his face must now look like. He struggled to his feet, accepting with a nod of thanks his own turnout coat.

Stanley watched him fumble on the heavy garment, his thick brows raised slightly at the other’s clumsy movements. “It’s been a rough day for you, hasn’t it? You sure you can handle this?”

Looking down as he hooked the clasps, Roy raised his head and smiled at his concerned captain. “Yeah, Cap, I would say right now, aside from being just tired, I’m doing better than I have all day.”

He stepped away from the door and once Hank had moved back, closed it. He picked up his discarded scba, checked that he had replaced the tank, and pulled it back on as he followed his captain towards the organized chaos still erupting in front of them. He had to raise his voice to be heard as they followed a line of hoses that snaked towards, the as of yet untouched by fire, four buildings off to the side of the two destroyed ones. “Johnny in there?”

“Yep. He’s in the back right corner building, D, checking for hot spots with Kelly. Go ahead and join Lopez in C, he’s waiting for you at the north entrance. Be careful in there, Pal. Use your air, the other teams report that the smoke is negligible but that the dust is thick.”

He gave Roy a soft slap on the shoulder and Roy nodded, sliding the mask over his face and patting his pocket for the HT and his flashlight as he did so. He trotted down the dirt passageway between the A and B buildings, barely noticing the fine mist of water hitting him from the overhead assault directed at the roofs to keep any sparks from igniting. He saw Marcos standing at the entrance to the C building, confidently wielding an inch and a half.

He moved up behind him and laid an alerting hand on the lineman’s shoulder. Marco immediately shut the line down and turned to face Roy, pulling up his mask.

“Hey, Roy! Just spraying down some of the dust in there; it’s thick enough to choke a horse. And amigo, this building is big; it’s two, or maybe three times the size of the two in front of us.”

DeSoto nodded in understanding. He flicked on his torch and waved the beam in an arc in front of them. It might be cavernous all right, but the up side to it was that the structure looked to be completely empty. Apparently it had been used to bring in and temporarily house the shipments that were brought in on the rail line that ran along the east side of the building. He flicked the light in that direction and saw that his suspicions were correct; there were at least five oversized doors running along that wall.

Because they would be able to see each other or at least the beams from their lights, Roy and Marco split up and began a careful check of the building. Even as he focused on his task, Roy found some of his thoughts straying to his fight with his wife, and the hoped for reconciliation tomorrow. If she really did believe that he didn’t listen to her, he needed to find out why. Even words pitched carelessly in the heat of battle could have some truth to them, and if that was the case…..well, he certainly was going to meet the problem head on and work on solving the problems. He recalled Lopez’s comment about the dust and a horse, and smiled within his mask as the poem from earlier immediately came to mind.

He watched as a spiral of dust filtered down through the roof, the fading light of the day peeking through the holes illuminating the fine shower as it spiraled and danced downward. He neatly sidestepped a gaping hole in the floor; he stopped to shine his light into the abyss. He was dismayed to see that there was a basement illuminated in the probing beam; he carefully crouched down, dropped his hand into the hole, and cut his light across the area. Cement block foundation about eight feet high, rough concrete floors, and the whole space completely empty from what he could see. The whole setup reminded him of his grandparents’ ancient barn with its huge timbers and river rock foundation, seemingly impervious to winter storms and the unstoppable march of time. Probably should, no, DEFINITELY should examine the foundation of his marriage, check to see that it was built of stone and stood solid, before he began adding layers to it.

His light played on the puddles of water shimmering on the dark, pocked surface of the basement, bringing up bittersweet memories of his several attempts at ice skating at a rink in their home town with his then girlfriend, JoAnne. Even now, he could recall the chilling touch of the ice beneath his bare hands as he tried to push himself to a vertical position, but even better was the recollection of the warm, comforting feel of Jo’s hand in his as she tried to help him. The sight of her small feet clad in white skates gliding effortlessly across the sparkling surface as his feet clumsily tried to slide in opposite directions had effectively erased his own embarrassment and frozen that moment in time.

He stood back up and carefully moved away from the hole, turning to his right to see if he could catch a glimpse of Marco’s light. He finally located it; he could barely make out the form of his colleague moving forward at least fifty feet ahead of him. It was reasonable to assume that that the roof was in better shape towards the back of the wooden edifice, as the light from the outside was no longer sneaking its way in. He swore he could feel the blackness creeping up on him and almost enveloping him in its invisibility. He shivered, even though sweat was trickling down his neck and back, and felt his earlier paranoia clutch at and try to enshroud him once again.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, Roy grabbed his HT from the depths of his pocket and waited several seconds for a break in the radio chatter, before pulling aside his mask. “Captain 51, this is DeSoto, team C.” He watched as Lopez’s light stopped and bobbed as the older man paused in his search to listen to the transmission. The radio crackled and buzzed with static before Stanley responded to the hail; Roy shook his head in annoyance and turned down the volume slightly. He rubbed the hand holding the flashlight across the back of his head, scratching awkwardly with his knuckles; he was thankful that his headache had at least disappeared, even if that sneaky hysteria was trying to force its way back, setting off little twinges of alarm in his subconscious.

“We have a full basement under this building, and the floor we are on is breached in several places. Information only, there appears to be no fire damage as yet to building C.”

“Acknowledged, team C. Teams A, B, and D respond to this information.”

DeSoto turned the volume back up and shoved the radio back into his pocket, listening as the other three teams checked in. He didn’t pull his mask back on until he heard Kelly’s voice reply to their captain and then voice a query of his own.

“My tank’s low, Cap, can you have someone mule a fresh one to the north side door?”

“No door closer so that you don’t have to backtrack?”

“Negative on that, if there are any they’re inaccessible.”

“10-4, proceed back to the north door. What is Gage’s location?”

Roy had to smile as he heard Chet yelling even from the muffling depths of his pocket; apparently the other man still had the transmit button depressed as he lobbed his questions across building D at John. Roy was sure Captain Stanley was holding the HT away from his ear and silently mouthing some nasty comments.

“He says it will take about six minutes to finish his side, and then he’ll head back down the opposite side and meet me…...”

The radio sputtered and hissed on Chet’s end, fading in and out on his words. Roy decided that either there was some kind of interference in the building that Kelly was in, or the unit’s battery wasn’t fully charged.

Roy moved forward using even more care now that he was relying solely on the illumination from his light. He swept the beam back and forth, eyes scanning from floor to ceiling. Treading closer to the back, he realized that the sounds from the outside were dissipating, leaving him alone with the hissing of his scba, the rapid talk from his radio, and the strange, almost human sounds emitting from the structure. As he walked, he listened intently to the reverberations echoing through and wondered how old the warehouse really was. The craftsmanship was evident from beginning to end and the abundance of natural materials, such as the wood floors, definitely indicated an edifice constructed years ago. So long ago, and yet these buildings would probably have stood tall and proud for many more years, if they hadn’t been abandoned and left to slowly weaken and die. He scrubbed his now free hand across the back of his neck, trying to rid himself of his own weaknesses and clear his thoughts. He had plunged into this building full of confidence and resolve, both in his job and his personal life, and now it felt like with every step forward he took the two were once again sliding away. It almost seemed that the noises of the decaying structure were mocking him, whispering softly to him that “you don’t listen, you don’t listen….”

Resolutely plunging forward, Roy smashed down the teasing hum of taunting sounds, pushing them to oblivion somewhere in the dark corners of his mind. He blanked out every thought but the job at hand, forcing himself to concentrate. It took almost ten more minutes to finish his side and join Marco at the back, but it took them only seconds to locate a door to the outside on the south side. They burst out into the fading sunlight, yanking off masks and helmets to inhale the cleaner, outside air. Bending over and placing his hands on his knees, Roy took in a huge gulp of air and gasped for a few seconds, cleansing not only his physical self but also halting the psychological erosion that seemed to be taking place. Marginally better, Roy mused, trying not to cough as a breeze wafted smoke past his nostrils. He raised his face and instantly regretted it as the gentle wind shifted and gusted a rain of ash down on his bare head.

Roy straightened up; both men shook themselves, trying to rid themselves of the fire’s ashy residue and the thin coat of dust that seemed to have settled in every crease and fold of their clothing. Marco peered at the paramedic, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“You okay Roy?”

Not yet trusting his voice to function, DeSoto nodded. He blew out several times, then finally allowed the cough to escape and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, just a lot of gunk burning its way out of my lungs.” He looked over at the D building they were now standing at the corner of; he noted the blacked out and iron barred windows. Not a door in sight along the east side, Chet had been right about the lack of exits. He backed up so that he could check out the south side and observed the door located about the middle of the wall.

“I wonder what was in that building?” He asked Lopez, who had followed him and was studying the roof and walls with just as much interest.

“Manufacturing and some offices, I overhead Cap talking to the chief before they sent us in. I guess we lucked out with ours…..” Marco shifted his attention to Roy, who was now delving in the pocket of his coat for his HT. Pulling it out, Roy pulled the antennae out and pointed it towards the two buildings in front of them.

“I heard both front teams check in that they were done. Did you hear anything from our guys?” At the shake of the lineman’s head, Roy frowned and updated their captain on their status, before asking about Kelly and Gage. An uneasy feeling tickled his mind, the dark and troubled thoughts that had been tormenting him about his marriage hopscotching right into worry about his crewmates. Johnny might be impetuous at times, but he was always safety minded and followed procedures, well, maybe stretched them a bit if the situation warranted it; Chet was the same way. Surely they were done with their building, or should at least be nearing the end of their search.

The feeling of something wrong intensified when Stanley, his voice flat but strained, told them that they had not been able to raise Kelly on the radio. Men from 36s were heading into the building via the north side – was there access through the south side? Roy glanced at Marco as they both trotted to the lone door that seemed to be beckoning to them.

“Affirmative, we’re there now,” the paramedic replied, dropping the radio back into his pocket. He tugged on the door and not surprised when it refused to yield under his hand. Marco appeared to his left, braced a booted foot against the wall, and added his assistance. This time, the door surrendered slightly, inching towards them a mere inch. Roy set his heel in the debris banked up at the bottom of the wooden portal and scraped hard, trying to dislodge the dirt, leaves, and other unrecognizable refuse that had piled up over the years. Minutes later the door grudgingly scraped forward; the men stared in surprise at the back of a bookcase that, except for about a foot of space at the top, filled and blocked the exit.

“Oh boy, that doesn’t look promising,” Marco sighed, testing the stability of the solid cabinet with his hand.

“Promises,” Roy muttered impatiently. The poem that had brought so many wonderful memories flooding back to him at the end of the phone call with JoAnne and during the beginning of his search through the dying building was now tormenting him. That line about the promises……he could vividly recall that night, even though it been three or four months ago. The two paramedics and the two linemen, along with their spouses and dates, had met at a restaurant to ambush Mike Stoker with a surprise birthday party. Several hours into the festivities, the conversation between Johnny and Roy had slid unwittingly into a rather cheerless discussion of on the job dangers. Not the best subject to be tossing around in front of wives and possible girlfriends, but with the numerous empty beer cans littering the table in front of the paramedics, JoAnne, and Johnny’s date, that was where their conversation had effortlessly glided.

_“But you know, Jo, that I can’t ever make that kind of promise,” Roy had stammered out in response to her comment about the wives always waiting at home. There was no way that he would ever make a promise to return home safely; no firefighter who was honest could make that vow._

_“I do know that, Roy, that’s not what I’m getting at. All I want is your reassurances that you’ll try your best to stay safe.” His wife had leaned across the table then and stared at Johnny, who had assumed a “deer in the headlights” look as his partner’s wife stabbed him with her piercing gaze. He had glanced over at said partner, who had simply shrugged and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and smirking. Better Gage then he having to bear the weight of his slightly tipsy wife’s scrutiny._

_“John Gage,” JoAnne had intoned softly, locking eyes with her target. Johnny had shifted uneasily in his uncomfortable chair, but had manned up and faced the music. He settled stiffly in the chair and smiled at her._

_“Yes, JoAnne?”_

_“You’re Roy’s partner…..” At John’s puzzled nod, she continued. “So it stands to reason that you look out for each other?”_

_Johnny nodded again, patting the hand of his date, Trudy, who was clutching at his arm and listening intently._

_“I would like your promise that you will look out for each other,” JoAnne finished solemnly, laying a hand over each one of Johnny’s hands that were currently clutching his beer can._

_“Oh, well sure, yeah, we do that anyways,” he answered, the relief in his voice evident._

_“Promise me, Johnny.” Her hands closed tighter and Gage winced as fingernails bit into his skin. He gently disengaged his right hand and raised it._

_“I promise I’ll keep an eye on Roy, JoAnne,” he vowed, ignoring the giggling coming from Trudy. He shot an uneasy glance at his partner, who had dropped his chair back on four legs and was sitting upright, listening intently._

_JoAnne released her hold on Johnny and stood up, tears glistening in her eyes. She leaned precariously over the table and cupped John’s face with her hands. He half rose, trying to keep her from tipping over into the debris of dishes and cans below her._

_“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek and pulling back. Johnny stared after her, openmouthed, as she navigated between tables and headed for the ladies’ room. He snapped his mouth closed and directed his attention back across the table. Roy had slowly wound himself to his feet and was letting his hands, splayed flat on the white tablecloth, hold his weight._

_“I promise, too, partner,” he declared, letting all his weight transfer to his left hand while he held his right hand out across the table. Johnny shook the proffered hand, dropping it quickly and absently taking hold of Trudy’s hand, which was still wrapped possessively around his left arm._

_“Okaaaaayy…do you and Jo always get so, ah, sentimental when you have a few drinks?”_

The thud as Marco’s air tank hit the ground broke Roy’s five second flashback. He helped him unclasp and pull off his turnout coat, dropping it on top of the tank. He cupped his hands, and Marco placed a foot in them; the Hispanic man sprang upwards and arched his body into the gap between the doorway and the imposing obstacle. Roy steadied him by his feet and legs as Marco inched forward to peer over the edge of the bookcase to the ground in front of it.

He slid backwards and dropped back to the ground in a cloud of dust. “It’s clear, nothing in front of it.” He grabbed his turnout coat and pulled it back on.

“Let’s do it then,” Roy answered grimly. Together the two men turned sideways and rushed the obstruction, barreling into it with their shoulders and immediately jumping backwards as it tilted forward and smashed to the ground. Roy scrambled up over the fallen bookcase and paused to scan the area he had barreled into. Lopez came up behind him, hands busy fastening the straps to his SCBA. They stared at the landscape in front of them and shared a look.

“This might take a while,” Marco said, before pulling his mask over his face and settling his helmet firmly on his head. Roy repeated the motions with his own equipment and without hesitation they plunged forward into the dark labyrinth of the whispering, sighing building.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Marco had been right when he had said that they were lucky with the building they had just searched. This one was a confused jumble of abandoned, heavy machinery along the side of one wall; across the other side ran smaller machines along with a handful of makeshift offices woven between the metal workhorses. Shining his light into the nearest cubicle, Roy could see that the tiny, square shaped space was large enough for a small desk, two uncomfortable chairs, and a filing cabinet. The walls were constructed out of barn siding laid horizontally about two thirds of the way up, with door less entryways. Obviously privacy or soundproofing was not a factor to be considered when the little cubbies were built, simply a division of space. Roy flashed his light away and back towards the center of the structure.

A wide aisle way traversed the length of the entire building, or what had obviously been the main thoroughfare for the once bustling business. The only reason the medic realized this was because there were traces left of a white paint that outlined the walk. Now cardboard boxes, rolls of paper, and what looked like the garbage from all four buildings was strewn about. The wood floors were hardly visible through the mounds of hazardous debris and even as Roy scanned the area, he caught sight of several rats scurrying to safety. He shuddered and looked over his shoulder at Marco, who nodded to confirm that he had just seen the rodents.

Roy indicated with his hand that the lineman go right, while he would check to the left. Lopez nodded again and moved cautiously off, able to see only a few feet within his beam of light. By unspoken agreement, they tried to stay within sight of each other’s glow. Even though Roy knew that the men from 36s were at the front of the building, he couldn’t see or hear them.

A shiver of apprehension slivered through him and he shook it off, anger at his reaction quickly replacing it. He could feel the unreasonable and completely unwarranted emotion washing over him and he snarled within his mask, his concern for his missing friends and crewmates suddenly taking a back burner. Part of his mind was telling him that he was not being himself, but the jeering, hissing dominant part right now was telling him otherwise. As his body moved mechanically through the forever stilled machinery and the scattered refuse, eyes darting back and forth, his thoughts began a two sided debate…….

 

_“Can’t believe Kelly and Gage got themselves lost, what kind of firemen are they? And why aren’t they communicating?”_

_“Probably because they can’t! The HT from the squad is in your pocket so Johnny doesn’t have one, and Kelly’s sounded like the batteries were failing or it was running into interference!”_

_“What do you mean they can’t? What kind of partner do you have? Is he hurt again? Or maybe he just can’t find his way out of a wet paper bag!”_

_“Just what do you mean by again? He’s only been hurt once, when he slid down that hill, and that was minor! Getting a shot of radiation while he was retrieving a victim from a hot zone just shows he’s dedicated to his job. And since he’s the one that navigates to our calls, he sure could find his way out of a wet paper bag! You’re just jealous because people listen to him!”_

_“Oh, so now you’re bringing in your little fight with your wife! And comparing her to your partner, the guy you’ve been working with for only a year? Who are you really angry with here, Mr. DeSoto - your wife, Gage, or maybe…….yourself?”_

 

Roy slapped a hand to his head, which was beginning to throb once again with a hammer like intensity, and paused for a brief moment in his search. What was wrong with him? There it was again, that “listening” business that had been dogging him all day. A simple verbal argument with his wife that had started out as a tickling breeze, the kind that blew paper plates off the table during a picnic or frisked sand down your shirt on the beach, was rapidly blowing into a category five hurricane. Obviously, his reconciliation attempt with JoAnne had only been the eye of the storm. Otherwise, why would the misunderstanding, fight, argument or whatever it was, keep reappearing in his thoughts? He had always thought that he could separate work from home, which was often imperative in the line of work he did; he had managed it quite successfully for most of his firefighting career. Yet today, today had been something else! Either he had delusions about his mental strength, or today was the beginning of a downward spiral into a desk job that he did not want, at least for another twenty years.

And to top it off, here he was in the middle of a search and rescue for his two crewmates, and one half of his apparently dried out grey matter was arguing with the other half about the coordination and compass reading skills of his work partner? What a shining example of mental strength! More specifically, the lack of…. Not the fight with JoAnne, not even the whereabouts and physical well-being of guys he was friends with – his stupid brain was fighting with itself over klutziness and paper bags!

So was he angry with himself? Of course he was! At this hazy point in time, wasn’t he the only one that he should be angry at? He had no reason to be mad at his wife; she had only been speaking her mind. Arguments were arguments, and there was usually some truth in the things spoken in anger. They really had made up, or at least were heading in the right direction, and would figure out what had gone wrong and try to avoid or fix the same mistakes from happening again.

As for Johnny, well he had just happened to be collateral damage to the whole debacle of the day. Wrong place, wrong time, that kind of thing, was the only rational explanation for the misdirection of his ire towards the guy he worked with. He had made his apology to his easily forgiving friend, or at least tried too, so there was no reason for his brain to keep harping on his poor behavior towards both him and his wife……

Rational…..He expelled a shuddering sigh and knew he was in trouble. His thoughts were shooting in twenty different directions, he was having trouble concentrating, and his bursts of anger and paranoia were both unexpected and frightening. Physically he wasn’t in much better shape with the pounding head and the stomach that was beginning to roll up and down. Something was going on, but he just couldn’t seem to hold that thought for long enough to figure out what it was.

Swallowing hard, the paramedic dropped his hand from his head and forced himself to move forward and channel all his emotions and attention into what he had to do. He was relieved that at least he seemed to be able to still accomplish that. Recalling the unstable flooring in the building they had just searched, his steps were careful and almost tentative. There was a reason that both Johnny and Chet were not responding to the radio hails and the muffled shouts that Roy could now hear from the north entrance; he had a strong feeling that the slightly spongy feel to the surface under his boots was playing a strong part in it.

“Johnny! Chet!” Sliding his mask to the side, he added his calls to those echoing around him. Less than a minute later, his HT crackled to life within his pocket and he fished it out with a hopeful, slightly shaking grip. Chet Kelly had been located close to the entrance.

Listening to the chatter issue forth, he learned that his colleague appeared to be ok, just a bit disoriented from tapping his hard noggin against an unseen obstacle. Kelly was telling his rescuers that he had lost consciousness for at least five minutes, but Roy surmised it had been for much longer. The crew from 36s obviously agreed with him, as they called for a paramedic. Roy’s hand automatically brought the radio up towards his mouth to acknowledge the call but the medic team from 36s immediately responded; they were already outside of the building.

The question remained, however, as to where Gage was. Chet had not seen or heard from him since he had returned to the north entrance to get a fresh tank. Roy slid his mask back in place, having had enough of the dust laden air. He glanced to his right and caught a glimpse of Marco’s bobbing light, now ahead of his position. If Johnny had been only minutes from completing his side of the structure, logic would dictate that he had probably been wending his way back towards the out of air lineman. So how far had he made it before something had stopped his forward progress?

The low air alarm on his SCBA interrupted his musings and Roy slapped at the offending noise in irritation; his momentary calm was shattered almost as fast as he had believed the foundation of his marriage was crumbling. He shut off the incessant racket, yanking off the mask once again and letting it dangle. An echoing blare shrilled across the aisle way and he realized that Lopez’s tank was emulating his own. Time was running out, both for his missing friend and his own sanity.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Silence seemed to descend upon the cavernous area. Seconds slipped by as Roy’s befuddled brain seemed to be idling, unable to shift into gear. He snapped to attention as a faint clanking sound reached his ears. Arguments, indecision, and doubts slid away. Vaulting forward, he played his light across the once pristine floor. Nothing obvious caught his attention - no bass bands were playing, or flags waving, or fans shouting. The sound had dissipated, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined the tapping…..no, no he had heard it, he had been listening.

He stepped into what looked like the last cubicle, instinctively dodging a falling flash of orange. Quickly he stomped it to oblivion, flashing a piercing gaze upwards. The HT jumped into his hand and he reported the wisps of smoke that were slowly spiraling downward, along with an occasional chunk of tinder seeking fire. His shin bumped into the edge of an exceedingly wide and long metal desk and he grimaced, bringing down a hand to steady himself against the smooth surface. He began to turn and paused as his suddenly sensitive ears picked up the tiniest anomaly in the thick air around him; the faintest whisper of a sound that didn’t belong.

He slid his hand along the top of the desk, noting with a curious detachment the downward slant towards the south side of the building. Dropping to his knees, he warily crawled along its side, running his hand along the bottom edge. On this side of the massive, hulking beast the metal ran almost to the floor, obscuring his view of underneath it and beyond.

Coughing as his knees stirred up more dust to add to the airborne particles, his hand found the corner of the desk. He warily snaked his hand around it, finally feeling the leg and continuing beyond it. His fingers encountered scarred flooring, the splintered edges of wood, and then nothingness. He fought the urge to dive around the desk and explore the space; under his knees he could feel the weakness of the once solid, load bearing floor and wondered how long it would be before the hulk of metal descended to the basement below, taking him with it if he was in its path.

He coughed again, but didn’t touch the dangling mask to take advantage of the remaining air. The overwhelming feeling, instinct, or whatever it was that was washing over him warned him to leave it off; he needed to be able to hear without the distraction of hissing air. SOP dictated that he get out of the building now, and not breathe in any more of the polluted air that was beginning its choking journey to his lungs. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, even though he knew that it was the smart, the safe, the right thing to do. There was a hole in that floor either under part of the desk or in front of it, and he had a strong feeling that somehow Johnny had firsthand knowledge of that gaping maw.

Gingerly he scooted a little to the left of the desk and forward, trying to stay on firmer ground, feeling with his hands as he moved. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. Marco was leaning in towards him, arm and hand stretched out to avoid the spray of water that was now cascading down over the area from the roof and creating a dark pattern on the back of Roy’s coat. DeSoto hadn’t even noticed the flame quenching deluge and felt a surge of panic as he realized the weight of the water was only going to add to the flooring problem.

“Don’t move any closer, Marco!” He warned quickly, thrusting out his own arm to block any movement. “The floor is unstable and there’s a hole……”

Lopez stepped cautiously backwards, bumping up against the planked wall. He did a strange crab like step sideways until he reached the doorway and stepped out. He leaned back in, planting and keeping his feet on the firmer surface. “Come on Roy, it’s gonna take us at least five minutes to get out of here. And between that roof and the floor, I don’t think you want to find out which is going first.”

“Hold on, hold on,” the paramedic muttered, teeth clenched in concentration as he crawled around the desk, scraping his shoulder against the wall of the cubicle. The custom made desk was so large that it took up most of the office space; only several feet separated the right side of the metal giant, where DeSoto was crouched, from the plank walls of the office. He was finally able to make out the outer edge of the jagged opening peeking out from the bottom lip of the desk. Emulating the crab like movement Marco had exercised before, he awkwardly side stepped in a hunched position around to the front of the desk and saw where the hole extended to the kneehole. The whole break in the floor was probably not much bigger then the lid to the fifty gallon metal trash can Chet was always polishing at the station. Incredibly, the desk appeared to have slid across the floor at just enough of an angle to miss plunging its legs into the blackness below.

A wave of doubt flooded over the paramedic as he flashed his light across the dark cavity. Johnny was slim, but even as skinny as he was there was no way he could have fallen through that hole with his bulky coat and SCBA on. Unless he was caught up on the edge of it and dangling over the waiting, gaping jaws of the unyielding crevasse below? His jaw tightened as he considered the possibility. The light wavered in his unsteady hand as he angled it into the hole, trying to see, his outstretched arms pressed firmly against the floor and gauging the stability as the weight as his body followed along behind. And then, there it was again, for a few hopeful seconds, the faint clanking sound that had caught his attention the first time. So no hallucinations……

“Listen, Marco! Can you hear that?” His voice rose in pitch as excitement vibrated through him. Behind the desk and to his left the lineman replied but Roy didn’t hear him, only the silence once again filling his ears. He inched the rest of the way to the irregular and shattered lip, now on belly and forearms, trying to distribute his weight evenly. Water was beginning to trickle into the hole and the echoes of it drummed a merciless beat into Roy’s head.

Other noises began to intrude on his concentration as he bent over the hole and swung his beam downwards into the dark cavern; he could hear Marco shifting uneasily and then shouting something directed towards the main entrance. The familiar drag of a hose being pulled, thumping of shoes and turnout boots, shouts of men approaching, all these sounds added to the hammering of his heart and the thundering gallop of blood rushing to his head.

He forced himself to focus on the ray of light pooling on the cement floor below and pushed all of the other distractions, imagined and real, aside. Some kind of narrow cabinet caught his attention first, but it was the object it was lying across and pinning firmly to the greyness of the cold concrete that caused him to lean over farther into the hole, balancing precariously. His eyes traced the outline of a hand gripping a flashlight, then followed the outstretched arm to a black helmet………

“There! He’s there…..hold on, we’re coming…….Johnny!”   **

~TBC~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N ** The last line of this story ties into “Reflections” (yes, shamelessly promoting one of my other stories!) – So if you haven’t read that one or want to revisit to read Johnny’s POV, this a good time to do it!


	7. Chapter 7

**__ **

It seemed like hours had slid by, but really it had only been a matter of minutes before the metal hulk of the desk had been tied off and pulled backwards. Fervent use of the pry bars had opened the plank wall so that the steel monster was yanked out of the claustrophobic space, allowing Roy to focus on gaining access to his trapped partner.

He had shucked off his tank and turnout coat and while he was rigging up a rope, Marco had splintered back more of the flooring, almost doubling the size of the hole. The water that had been flowing down from the gashes above had effectively doused the hopeful embers on the roof but had also soaked both men and created a sloshy mess on what remained of the floor. The water had been turned off and all that remained was an annoying trickle. Hands double checking his knots, DeSoto signaled his readiness with a curt nod to the group of firemen handling his rope. He dropped downward, one hand clutching his line while the other flashed his light on the concrete floor that was rapidly closing in on him. He managed a fairly graceful landing, his left foot flat on the coldness and his right barely missing the very wet, outstretched arm of Johnny.

Kneeling, his hand immediately closed around Gage’s wrist and checked his pulse. It was racing, but considering the circumstances, Roy thought that it was within the bounds of normalcy, at least for his friend. He gently uncurled John’s fingers from the flashlight that had saved his life, and for a brief moment replaced the cylindrical, cold object with the warmth of his own hand. A relieved sigh escaped Johnny and Roy squeezed his hand, released it, and finally turned all the way to look at him.

A squinting eye was looking at him; a thin thread of blood was sliding across the side of John’s face that was visible and angling down across his thinned lips. Quickly running a light hand across the coppery trail and terminating its downward run, Roy shifted his position; even while his hands were busy feeling the arm for breaks, his eyes were checking out the cabinet that had Johnny pinned to the floor like a butterfly on a card.

“About time….”Johnny breathed out, voice low and hardly intelligible. “Been waiting awhile ya know…….”

Roy smiled and self-consciously removed his dripping helmet and set it aside when the next words from the smoke thickened voice were “you’re raining on me, and as I can’t really cross my legs to stave off the inevitable result of hearing and feeling this waterfall hit me for the last ten minutes, think you can get me out of this mess before I add to it?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. We lost Chet there for a while; you know that linemen take precedent over us lowly paramedics, right?” DeSoto wisecracked, satisfied with his arm checking. He stood up and slid his hands under the bottom edge of the long but thin contraption and attempted a lift upwards. His grunt of exertion ended with an exhale of air when the cabinet refused to yield even a fraction of an inch.

“What the hell is in that thing?” He questioned, straightening up and touching a hand to his back. He shouted up to the helmeted fireman, Marco perhaps, leaning over the hole that they needed jacks and more manpower, before turning his attention back to his prone partner. “Weighs a ton…”

There was a groan of disbelief from Gage, and Roy thought he knew his friend well enough now to pretty much put words to the annoyed noise; something to the tune of “maybe that’s why I’m still under here”.

“Right…..I know this is another dumb question considering the position you’re in, but do you think you’re hurt anywhere?” He flicked his glance once again over the positioning of the cabinet and Johnny; aside from the dark head and flung out arm, he could only see the calves and feet of his friend. Everything else was covered with white painted steel.

A long pause followed the question as Gage seemed to be mentally running through a physical checklist. “Dunno….I think my back’s ok ‘cause I can feel everything, kinda hard to breathe though….and something’s trying real hard to strangle me, plus scratching me, could be the straps on my mask.” Johnny finally admitted softly, dark lashes fluttering and then settling on his pale cheek as his eyes closed.

“Ok,” Roy whispered just as quietly, settling back down by Johnny’s side and laying a comforting hand on the sliver of shoulder visible. “It won’t be too long.”

“Yeah.”

No more words were spoken as the activity above them increased. Aside from licking his dry lips once and a twitch of his free hand, Johnny remained still under the steadying pressure of Roy’s hand. Feeling the chilling damp of the floor seeping into his knee, Roy tried to shift to the flats of both feet and almost tipped over. He righted himself quickly, wordlessly berating his clumsy action. The abrupt action brought no reaction from John except a tiny upward tilt to his lips.

DeSoto glanced around at the sudden increase in noise coming from the level that they were on and realized that someone had finally located an entrance to the basement that didn’t involve dropping through a hole. “Sounds like the cavalry is here.”

“Maybe not such a good thing for me,” Gage wisecracked, opening his eye and blinking up at his colleague. Roy just smiled and extracted a white handkerchief from his front pocket. He gently wiped away the trail of liquid that had leaked from the corner of Johnny’s eye and dried, leaving a salty, telltale line through the dirt on his face.

“Dust making my eyes water,” John murmured, embarrassment coloring his words.

“I left half my lung upstairs crawling around in that same dust,” Roy snorted, purposely trying to redirect his partner’s discomfort with his own words as he finished cleaning off most of the grime. He then folded the hankie, dirty side in, into a small square. He moved it up and applied pressure to the cut that was beginning to bleed again. He kept his hand on it until he was satisfied with the results, at least for the moment. As soon as he could lay his hand on the trauma box, things would be done right.

The welcome sight of three firemen closing in on their position caught DeSoto’s attention and he stood up, relief flooding over him. It took more time then he would have liked, but soon the metal cabinet was standing upright. The strangling straps and the SCBA had been carefully eased off of Johnny; he had then been back boarded and new, confining straps were secured around him. Roy paused, keeping one eye on his friend but staring at the white cabinet. His curiosity got the best of him and he fumbled with the doors, prudently stepping off to the side as they gave.

“Oh for Pete’s sake,” he sputtered, a laugh escaping him as he viewed the contents. “Only you, Johnny, only you….”

He shook his head in disbelief and latched the doors, stepping back over to the top of the board and grabbing the left side by John’s head as they prepared to lift it. As he hefted his corner up he noticed that Gage was trying his hardest to watch him. His eyebrows were lifted in a questioning arc and annoyance was splashed across his face at the collar around his neck that was preventing him from turning his head. Apparently he had heard his mirth filled words and surmised his actions.

“What was in there?” He asked curiously, his voice stronger now that he was right side up but still hoarse from smoke and dust inhalation.

Roy turned his head sharply towards him to reply and immediately regretted the action. The headache he had stubbornly ignored and that had receded fractionally during the rescue sharpened and reasserted its presence. He couldn’t help the loud gasp from escaping him; at the same time he caught his left foot on something and stumbled, losing his grip on the backboard.

The board tilted sharply and the lineman from 36s that was on the right side fumbled it for a moment then leveled and steadied it, moving his hands directly behind Gage’s head at the top. There was a rather telling pause as the group of men stood frozen for a brief moment, and then collective sighs were heard. It was Johnny who quickly snapped out the words that were on everyone’s minds.

“Roy! You ok? Man, what happened?”

The hand that was instinctively on its way to touch his pounding head dropped, and Roy forced a smile. “I’m good, just caught my foot on something and lost my hold…..sorry John.”

Johnny looked dubious and was clearly holding back some choice words; Roy wasn’t going to lean over him and give him the satisfaction of seeing his face. Gage would be able to read and correctly interpret the expression that he couldn’t seem to wipe off. He hadn’t worked with any of the other guys holding the annoyed, trapped paramedic, so that wasn’t an issue. They would accept his words at face value and just move on.

Roy grabbed hold of the board once more and forced his lips to move. “Ok, let’s go…”

Creaking and groaning noises from the floor overhead accompanied the firefighters as they tramped toward the faint light of the opened bulkhead doors that led to the glorious, beckoning freedom of the outside. Heads turned warily and eyes rolled upwards at the ominous sounds portending disaster but they steadfastly moved on, skirting around the various piles of junk littering the floor. It was far cry from the vast emptiness of the basement Roy had poked his head into only an hour earlier, or had it been hours? He wasn’t sure anymore; the passage of time seemed to be marching to its own drummer through his head and wasn’t giving up any obvious clues.

The waning sunlight met him and warmed his face as he mounted the short set of stairs and led the way out of Johnny’s dank, chilling tomb like space. He blinked at the diluted light, feeling like a mole after so much time spent in the clutching darkness of the dying building.

The men carried the backboard at a rapid trot past the buildings, over the snaking hoses still winding across pavement and churned up, water sprayed dirt, straight to the back bumper of the ambulance. They laid it down carefully on the waiting gurney. Mike Stoker appeared by their side and took Johnny’s tank and turnout coat that one of the men had been carrying.

“I put your gear in the squad, Roy, and Marco will follow you to Rampart,” he said, angling over to the left side of the wheeled gurney to avoid DeSoto, who had circled around and knelt down on the right side.

“Chet?” Johnny queried anxiously, trying to shift under his restraints and failing miserably. Stoker leaned over him so that he could see him and peered down at him, smiling.

“He’s fine, Gage, on his way in. In his words, he’s got a whopper of a headache and should have ducked instead of sidestepping, whatever that means.”

“Good, real good…..” Johnny acknowledged with relief. “Say Stoker, any idea where my helmet ended up?”

“No, sorry, Johnny,” Mike apologized, and then abruptly threw up his hands in a catcher’s position as a black missile flew towards him. He deftly caught it and lowered it into John’s line of sight. “I guess one of the guys picked it up.”

Gage whispered a heartfelt thanks as he considered the consequences of losing or damaging another helmet, especially with a new captain on board. He winced as Roy rose up from the other side, flashing a penlight into his already light sensitive, squinting eyes. He licked his dry lips and stared up at his partner, who was biting his own lips in concentration as he flicked the light a second time onto his unwilling patient. This time Johnny closed his eyes tightly in protest; he startled slightly as Roy’s hand dropped much more firmly then needed onto his abdomen to count respirations.

“Thanks Mike,” Roy said absently as the lanky engineer stepped back and regarded him curiously. He seemed about to say something but turned away when Captain Stanley appeared at Roy’s side, toting the bio-phone and the drug box.

“How ya doing, John?” He asked, thunking down the boxes and regarding both men with concern. He looked again at the older man, who appeared to Stanley to be counting respirations but in reality was staring fixedly at his watch. Johnny, eyes slitted open once more, was well aware that his immobile friend had either zoned out or was counting for the fourth time. He blew out his breath in a gusty sigh, the only action that he could physically do except perhaps drum his fingers; it accomplished its purpose and shook Roy out of his trance. The slow moving paramedic finally reached down and opened up the black box, retrieving the BP cuff and his stethoscope.

“I’m fine, Cap, gonna be sore as all get out, but I wish….”

“Wish what, John?” Hank had dropped to a crouch and was fumbling open the bio-phone, attaching the antennae and opening a channel.

“I wish you hadn’t been helping your kid with that poem, because that’s all I could think about down there……”

Stanley grinned in relief, holding the phone in one hand and looking up at Roy. “You did, huh? I can think of worse things to be thinking of while trapped on my belly underneath a ton of weight.”

If it was possible to look sheepish while not being able to move anything but facial muscles, Johnny Gage was doing a good job of it. “Ummm, yeah, you’re right.”

The captain tapped Roy with the end of the phone to get his attention. “What was in that cabinet, Roy?”

“Oh…” Roy leaned over and murmured something.

“Unbelievable, just unbelievable.” Hank laughed and rubbed a hand across his chin. “Say, pal, you going to shoot me Gage’s vitals? I want to have a go at transmitting on this thing since, thankfully, I don’t usually have the chance.”

“Right, right…” Roy handed over the slip of paper and ignored the complaints rising from the gurney as to why it was such a big secret. The noises grew louder and more varied when Dr. Morton’s voice responded to the hail on the radio and an IV was ordered.

“For Pete’s sake, an IV, why an IV?” He sputtered indignantly, wincing as cool alcohol hit his skin; Roy was swabbing the inside of his arm. John paused in his angry tirade when his colleague rubbed the area for a third time. “Roy? You trying to rub off my skin?”

Captain Stanley, who had quietly packed up the radio and placed it in the bed of the ambulance, took a step to his right and spun around so that he was hovering over the head of the gurney. He glared down at his frothing paramedic and shot his other paramedic a considering look. “DeSoto, would you say that this patient is mildly combative? Don’t they order, especially your Dr. Morton, a drug in certain instances to calm down the victims?”

“A little diazepam, maybe?” Roy suggested calmly, pumping up the BP cuff once again on Johnny’s upper arm. At John’s yelp, he released the pressure immediately. His face a study in concentration, he squeezed the bulb again but this time stopped before the cuff tightened too far.

“I get the point, Cap,” Gage conceded in admitted but not liked defeat, his hands clenched tightly against his frustration of being unable to see what Roy was doing.

Whatever Roy WAS doing, it wasn’t his usual stellar performance and he was concerned, both for his partner and for himself. The tone of his voice when he had recommended the sedative had been deadly serious, at least in his opinion. But he wasn’t about to say anything in front of their captain, especially a captain that hadn’t been in charge of them for very long. Sometimes it was hard to read DeSoto, and he wasn’t about to feed his friend to the lions if this was one of those times.

“I thought you would, John. I’ll see you in a bit; we’ve been stood down since we’ve lost a third of the crew.” He patted Johnny’s shoulder softly and moved off, shooting a last, lingering look over his shoulder. He hadn’t missed the tension between the two men, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was that was bothering him about it.

Johnny bit his lip as he felt the needle enter his skin then withdraw; a tiny breath of sound was Roy’s only indication that the stick had failed. After the second attempt ended in the same result, John unclenched his fists and released the bloody lip that he had focused his anxiety on.

“Roy….unstrap me, please.”

“You know I can’t do that, John, back and neck injuries and all that,” Roy replied easily. His tone was so smooth and professional that for a moment his younger counterpart wondered if he had imagined the overtight BP cuff or the clumsy vampire attempts at his veins. Then again, maybe he had a head injury and was zoning in and out? No, no, it was Roy that was exhibiting the odd behavior…..

“Could you look at me for a moment, then?” He heard his voice lift slightly at the end of the question, unable to maintain his composure when he felt DeSoto’s fingers tapping the vein that, judging by the pressure on his bicep, was probably visibly protruding from his arm like a gnarled root running across the ground searching for water. The fingers stilled and trailed off his arm as Roy acquiesced to his question and leaned over him.

It was hard to see Roy’s face as the shadows had begun a slow crawl across the graveled space in front of the buildings; soon complete darkness would be swaddling them in its velvety cloak. But there was enough light streaming from the back of the waiting ambulance to notice the squinting eyes and the taut lines around his partner’s mouth; lines that indicated discomfort or possibly pain.

“Your headache is back, isn’t it?” He asked carefully, watching the surprise flash across DeSoto’s face. He hadn’t expected THAT question, had he? Probably something more along the lines of how many times are you going to stick that needle in my vein, or untie me now so that I can punch your lights out…

“I….yes, it is.” Roy answered simply, but with obvious hesitancy.

Johnny could hear one of the ambulance attendants shuffling his feet impatiently and decided that trying to move Roy along might be a good idea. Plus he might be able to talk the other man out of another poking attempt. “Hey, why don’t we just get going? The lighting is a lot better inside the ambulance.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” DeSoto grudgingly agreed, stepping away. John was airborne within a few seconds as apparently both of the attendants had been hovering by the back of the vehicle. He felt the ambulance dip as Roy jumped in and heard the doors slap shut. His partner reappeared by his head and Johnny used the bright interior lights to study him once more.

“Did you bump your head this morning?” he asked in concern, noting for the first time some bruising on Roy’s temple. Roy had brushed his hair back as he leaned over him, penlight in hand to check his eyes once again, and Johnny stared at the vivid mark of color in concern.

“No, why?”

John’s fingers twitched as he instinctively tried to raise his arm to touch his own head to show the location of the bruise. “Because you have a very nasty bruise right under your hair…no, more to the left, my left, yeah, right there.”

Roy’s fingers sought and found the spot; he winced as he pressed down lightly. “I don’t remember hitting anything….”

“Something hit you?” Johnny, running their responses through his brain, came up empty.

DeSoto dropped his hand and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t recall any kind of head trauma whatsoever. You sure it’s just not dirt?”

“I don’t think you would be making faces if it was just dirt, would ya?” Johnny chided mildly, but softening the rebuke with a wide grin. Roy stared at him, raising a hand to the roof to balance as the ambulance swayed around a corner. He shot an annoyed scowl in the direction of the driver, then transferred the look back down at Gage, who was still watching him with avid attention.

“You sure you’re not trying to distract me away from that IV Morton ordered, Junior?” He demanded, anger beginning to creep in to join the annoyance. He dropped his hand from the ceiling onto Johnny’s shoulder and pressed down, successfully eliciting a wince of pain.

John ground his teeth together to keep a retort from escaping him. The words “head injury” were circling around in his spongy grey matter; that sure would explain the mood swings and headaches Roy had been exhibiting all day. Within the space of an hour, he had run the gamut of overly concerned, compassionate friend to a snarIing, rabid animal. Kinda like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde….If he wasn’t careful with how he reacted, his concussed partner might just decide to play doctor and prep him for surgery or something equally scary. The thought of Roy hovering above him in the jolting ambulance with a scalpel was just too horrible to consider. He really and truly didn’t want to end up in those glass jars filled with formaldehyde, reduced to floating eyeballs leering at and index fingers trying to beckon the pretty student nurses giggling at his floating body parts.

He swallowed convulsively and just wished he knew how to handle him. That was the tricky part, because it was pretty clear that any little thing could set off his usually calm and rational friend. Otherwise, why was he trying to smash him into the hard wood of the backboard? He wasn’t the one whipping around the corners, for Pete’s sake!

Realizing that his thoughts were meandering almost as bad as when he had been flattened earlier, only then it had been against cement and on his stomach as opposed to wood and his back now, John opened his eyes wide in what he hoped would pass for innocence. “Who me, trying to distract you? Not in a million years, Pally, would I try and do something as sneaky as that! You must be confusing me with someone else, maybe one of the guys in the station? How about the one that keeps booby trapping my stuff?”

DeSoto lessened the pressure against Gage’s sore shoulder and regarded him thoughtfully, before finally removing his hand and thunking down hard on the seat. He ran a hand across his face, fingers straying to the bruise. He sighed and stared at Gage, who was blinking rapidly at the ceiling and rotating his jaw in an obvious attempt to relieve discomfort. He snorted when Johnny rolled his eyes sideways in an obvious attempt to see what he was up too.

“I don’t think I would put anything past you….but you’re right, Johnny. I forgot about it until now, but when I had to move Jo’s station wagon this morning the wind caught the door; the side of it caught me right here….” He touched his temple again.

“Ahhh…” Now John’s voice was serious as he considered how long the other man had been running around with a concussion or something far worse. “Do you think you could wipe this cut again? I think if I taste this sh...Stuff again I’m gonna hurl…..”

A soft expletive left Roy’s lips as he realized that he had never bandaged the cut on Johnny’s head; the blood was indeed dripping from the cut but at least it was heading into the hair that was plastered stickily to Gage’s skull. What was that stuff in his hair anyways? Jell-O, syrup…..Roy tried to retrieve the foggy memory as the wound was finally properly cleaned and a pressure bandage applied. He made an abortive attempt to wipe some of the red fluid out the dark hair, but gave up when it made John’s hair stick out even more from his head in spiky clumps.

He settled back onto the bench and deflated the BP cuff still on Johnny’s arm. He stared guiltily at the tiny pinpoints of blood and the bruising, all evidence of his stupid attempts to prove to himself that he was just fine and had the steady hands needed to slide a needle into a vein. He slid sideways as the emergency vehicle made the final turn into the hospital but could only feel relief that his friend was going to get the proper care that he needed.

Clearing his throat, DeSoto dropped the cuff into the trauma box. “That stuff in your hair, what was it again?”

Johnny licked his lips and let his eyes drift close, also recognizing the turn. “Popsicle.”

“That’s right, cherry wasn’t it?”

The ambulance stopped and shifted into reverse, masking most of the groan that escaped from Johnny. “Couldn’t remember Popsicle, but you could remember the flavor? Ahhh….”

The second groan was cut off as the back doors flew open and Roy unlocked the wheels, shooting Gage a worried look as he recalled the Pavlov response his partner had with cherry flavor.

“Man, I didn’t know I had so many muscles in my body...” Johnny complained, as Roy’s troubled face appeared in his sight. Roy smiled, thankful that he wasn’t going to have to flip him over to prevent aspiration.

“All 640 or so hurting, huh?” He teased, clambering down carefully from the back and wondering what shade of purple Morton was going to turn when he saw the IV less Gage rolling by him. This time he let his hand reach up and touch the bruise on his head, not trying to cover up the action. Short of taping Johnny’s mouth shut, everyone within earshot was going to know that he needed attention; there was no way Gage was going to let this go. He let out a shuddering breath of release as he decided it was a good thing and the probable concussion sure explained a lot of things.

“Just about, Roy, just about, makes me kinda wonder about where some of those muscles are….” Johnny concluded with his own brief flash of humor, but his voice slowed down and faded out as they flashed through the automatic doors and rolled down the brightly lit hallway. Roy caught up to him and looking at the pinched expression on his face, realized that his colleague was finally giving in to the pain. But why had he been masking his discomfort?

DeSoto stepped off to the side and slumped in misery against the wall, not assisting the gurney into the exam room. Dixie, who was holding the door opened, looked at him with her head tilted in puzzlement before disappearing within. In the time it took Roy to close his eyes and cross his arms against his chest in a resigned gesture, she was back at his side. She laid a gentle hand on his stiff arm.

“Roy, come with me into room four. Kel will meet us there.”

Head down, Roy refused to look at her. “Why, so he can tell me what a lousy paramedic I am? Or even worse, what a lousy friend I am to Johnny? I couldn’t even start a simple IV, Dix, and worse yet, I HURT him! He was afraid of me, Dix, afraid of his partner and friend! He thought I was going to…….God!”

He raised his head, guilt flashing as he recalled how he had pushed John’s sore shoulder into the backboard, actually relishing the little sound of surprise and pain that he had made; how he hadn’t thought twice about threatening him with a sedative once their captain had jokingly made the suggestion. He might have done it too, if he hadn’t been distracted. What else had he done that he couldn’t remember? More importantly, why hadn’t he listened and reacted to John’s obvious discomfort or even zeroed in on his friend’s subtle attempts to mask his growing pain? Friend indeed, after today he would be lucky if Johnny would even look at him without spitting in disgust.

Dixie raised a warning hand to Kelly Brackett, who was moving purposely toward them with his usual ground eating strides. He faltered, slowed, and then stopped, nonchalantly turning slightly away but still able to see what she was doing.

“Ok, now listen to me, Roy DeSoto!” Dixie’s voice, while soft, was also commanding. “Nobody is blaming or accusing you of anything. There’s a reason for your actions, your behavior, and if you stop to think about it, you’ll know exactly what I am talking about.”

She touched a hand to her head, attracting his attention and keeping it when she then touched his face gently with the still uplifted palm. “And I think right here is the reason for all of this, don’t you?”

She snaked her arm and other hand around his waist, watching him closely and waiting for him to process her words. Roy blinked at her, the anger and a million other emotions pounding through his weary brain. He closed his eyes slowly, carefully sorting through the turbulent feelings. He concentrated on the feel of his friend’s comforting hand, and pushed back against the solidness of the wall behind him, enjoying the sensation of safety.

“Are you ready?” The nurse asked, stepping back just a little to give him a choice between moving and staying. Roy turned his head a little to see the exam room Johnny had vanished into, but there was no visible activity or sounds to give him a clue as to what was going on within He looked again at Dixie, who regarded him calmly, neither pity or recrimination in her steady gaze.

“Don’t worry; you know that Johnny is in good hands. Although he was driving Mike to distraction, something about crossing his legs and waterfalls?”

Letting a tiny smile escape, Roy sighed. “Yeah,” he finally answered, leaving the cold comfort of the wall and letting her lead him towards the little room. Dix waved at the impatiently waiting doctor behind her back, and he slowly followed them through the windowed door.

-eeeEEEeee-

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

With a sliver of a moon tracking upwards through the night sky and replacing the sun that had been setting when they had arrived at Rampart, the two paramedics were now taking up space in a room on the fourth floor. Roy lay on his back, one knee up in the air with the foot flat on the mattress and his fingers plucking restlessly at the sheets. He looked across the expanse of ugly linoleum and studied his sleeping friend for a moment, wondering how he had managed to escape serious injury. He had fallen through a floor, landed on cement, and then had a loaded cabinet slide through the hole and splat on top of him. How many people could live through all that and laugh about it while telling the tale?

Apparently his goofy partner could because Gage, who had broken through the floor and had landed quite gracefully on his feet in a crouched position, had then laughingly confessed to having fallen face forward from the force of the plunge and the weight of his air tank. Seconds later the loaded cabinet had landed on its bottom and had tipped over on him, the same air tank taking the majority of the weight and preventing serious injury. Of course this story had been spun after the exam and x-rays had been completed; they had ended up side by side in recovery while waiting for a room. The fluids flying through the IV in John’s arm had rendered him quite giggly and even more loquacious than usual. He had ended up bruised all over and with several stitches in the cut on his face, but had luckily avoided broken bones and a head injury. He had been sleeping for several hours now; he had finally succumbed to the pull of the pain relief and muscle relaxers.

Roy sighed and turned his attention to the ceiling above him. His own wind inflicted injury had been diagnosed as a concussion, serious enough to require an overnight stay and monitoring. The headache had dissipated somewhat, but he still felt out of sorts with everything and especially everyone that he came in contact with. JoAnne had made it to the hospital while he had still been in the treatment room downstairs and he found himself being overly cautious in his conversation with her. He wasn’t really sure of how many of his words would truly be from his heart as opposed to the concussion side effects still popping up in his throbbing gray matter and shooting unfiltered out of his mouth. She in turn had been quiet, concerned, and something else that he couldn’t quite figure out……he wondered if it had something to do with their quarrel. More than likely…..he wouldn’t know for sure until she returned from getting the kids settled for the night with their babysitter. He was anxious about her imminent arrival, yet looking forward to it.

_Is that possible_ , he mused, _to want to see your wife yet be worried about it? Of course it is, you silly dope! Remember your wedding day? A day eagerly anticipated but fraught with jitters; even a shot of Jameson thoughtfully provided by his best man hadn’t really helped. If anything, it had just churned up his stomach even more and sent more butterflies into flight._ He couldn’t help but smile at his own reply to his question, fingers still absentmindedly yanking at his sheets. Apparently carrying on a back and forth, strange conversation with himself was going to stay with him for a bit.

“Probably a good thing you don’t have fingernails like Dixie’s, otherwise they’d be sending ya a bill….” A still hoarse voice drifted over from the other bed, interrupting his rambling thoughts.

Roy stopped counting the indentations in the ceiling tiles and looked over at Gage. The dark haired medic was still lying on his left side facing him; the only thing that had moved in the last several hours were his eyes, which were now open and lazily watching the attempted shredding of the previously wrinkle free, white sheet.

Raising himself up slowly, DeSoto sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He remained there, tamping down the quick hit of dizziness that assaulted him and feeling the cool air hit his back between the ties of the gown. He shifted sideways to tuck the stiff fabric underneath him and finally relaxed, modesty preserved at least for the moment. When he stopped moving and finally refocused his attention on Gage, the other man had already let his eyes drift shut.

“Just kind of letting things run through my mind, what’s left of it,” Roy explained, casually smoothing down the white cotton over his legs and then hunching over his knees, arms encircling them almost protectively.

“At least you got one and it’s still functioning, the brain that is. ‘Tis probably more than you can say about old Chet. How is he, anyways? And you, is it a concussion? How bad of one is it? More dents in your head, kinda like the surface of the moon….” The brown eyes rolled open again and peered quizzically at the slightly hunched figure. This time the right arm moved and his long fingers touched the tube running to the nasal cannula delivering oxygen to his body; he plucked it loose from his nose and yanked the whole thing over his head and dropped it carelessly behind him.

Clearly Johnny didn’t remember any of their disjointed conversation while they had waited downstairs together. Smiling faintly, the light haired medic realized Johnny didn’t sound 100% lucid right now either. Roy glanced up at the liquid left in the bottle feeding into his vein and wondered what was still trickling into his partner to cause him to compare his head to the surface of the moon. Morton must have really hit him up with something good.

DeSoto came to the sad conclusion that if the younger man didn’t recall any of their aimless dialogue, clearly that meant he wouldn’t be able to reminisce with him about what had transpired after Johnny’s account of his very descriptive fall into the basement. Although, he really would enjoy recounting the events of earlier, several times if needed in fact! His memory deprived friend would surely enjoy the tale and probably not believe it; Roy’s tiny smile morphed into a teeth baring grin as he considered the fun he was going to have with spinning and elaborating the outlandish but hilarious antics of their crewmates.

Before they had finally been whisked into the upper echelon by a couple of grinning orderlies, they had been graced with an entertaining visit by Marco and Mike. Just the sight of the head nurse, Miss Dixie McCall, chasing M and M (that was HER descriptive but clean name for the boys) out of the room had been funny enough, but boy, oh boy, his partner was going to be sorely disappointed when he found out that those clowns, especially the usually closemouthed Stoker, had acted out an humorous and quite physical two act play. The short drama had depicted first Chet’s injuries in Act I, then John’s in Act II. His last glimpse of those two idiots had been them taking deep, exaggerated bows as Dixie shooed them out, laughter trailing behind them as they ran for their lives.

Roy didn’t know if their fellow firemen had been simply still high on adrenalin, or perhaps there had been something in the smoke they had all partook of that was taking its sweet time in exiting from their bodies. It had definitely not been anything resembling normal actions for Stoker and Lopez; he would probably never know what had instigated the wild behavior especially if they reverted back to their tight lipped selves. And why had they even been at the hospital? They had still been in uniform, which meant two possibilities. Either they were still on duty and killing time while waiting for reinforcements, or the sadly depleted station had been stood down for the rest of the shift; he did remember their captain saying something about that, so perhaps they had driven here in haste, without changing, to check on their colleagues. Somehow he believed they had done the latter, for even though they did a lot of kidding around the men were a tight bunch.

Whatever the case, he had still been laughing as they rolled down the hallways and flew upwards in the spacious elevator. He had laughed so hard, in fact, he had spewed up the contents of his stomach into the plastic emesis container located on the table next to his bed. Luckily, the only thing swimming in his belly was the fluids they had pumped into him to rehydrate his water deprived body. The only comment Dixie had made was that the concussion was finally catching up to him; as she had been gently wiping his sweating forehead at the time and holding a plastic cup of ice chips, he had accepted the mild rebuke with a grateful smile. At least he hadn’t hallucinated the funny antics that had transpired in the recovery room; his hollow stomach and raw throat were proof of that.

Reining in his memories, he struggled to remember the question Gage had slurred at him. “Matching concussions, Chet and me, although I’m not sure who got the worst of it. I think he’s down one floor. Last I heard, Morton was threatening to put him in the pediatric ward.”

Johnny gave a snort of laughter, followed by a sneeze which then led to a grunt of discomfort as one of his unknown muscles let itself be felt. “Ouch!”

He let the one word escape and then closed his mouth down on anything else. He wouldn’t admit it but he was still a bit leery of Roy and how he would react to anything he said. Considering how fuzzy his brain was at this moment, he didn’t think it wise to engage in a soul provoking conversation. He might not remember anything that had happened downstairs after that cocktail Morton had shot him up with, but he sure did recall Roy’s behavior in the ambulance. They might be in the hospital, but that didn’t mean Roy’s head was screwed on straight quite yet.

Keeping an eye on his bowed over partner, who right now was reminding him of one of those stone gargoyles perched precariously on the side of a building, he did a tentative stretch. Hurt like hell, yeah, but at least he still had all of those 640 muscles. He chanced a slow roll over to his back, mindful of the IV running out of his right arm and up to the glass bottle hanging from the pole. Definitely doable, just at a slower speed then what he was accustomed to. He would just have to remember that little annoying fact that was all. He lifted his hip and swished the oxygen tubing, that he was now lying on, off the bed completely and listened in satisfaction as part of it hit the floor.

Roy hadn’t moved from his odd position, but he had lifted his head and was watching with wide eyed interest John’s careful attempts at relief. Flashing him a satisfied smile, Johnny settled back against his pillow, wondering if there was any chance of getting a couple of more of those cushy, sanitary foam rectangles to pile up behind his back. He lifted a tentative hand up to his hair and grimaced as he felt the clumped strands of Popsicle and blood. Unless he got a sympathetic nurse willing to clean him up, he was going to be stuck with porcupine hair until they released him, hopefully tomorrow. Maybe it was time for a haircut….

“Here….” He felt a hand on his shoulder and the sliding of another pillow behind him; the bed moved up to a half reclining position. Gage adjusted himself to the more comfortable angle, enjoying the simple act of being able to turn his head freely and watch DeSoto shuffle back to his bed. He grinned at his clumsy attempt of holding the gown closed in the back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Roy parked himself back on his bed, but remained upright this time. “Say Johnny, I know I’ve been doing and saying some weird stuff today…..”

“What, more than usual?” John quipped back, banishing his resolve to not engage his friend in too much banter. Aside from an obvious headache still lingering and his own careful movements, Roy was acting almost normal. Guilt, check. Doubt, check. Worry, check. And of course concern, one of his buddy’s most admirable traits, double check. Even when Roy had been switching back and forth between being a nice guy and being a bit on the nasty side, that rather nice characteristic kept popping up and was obviously dominant, thank goodness.

It was Roy’s turn to snort, and a smile actually found its way to his face before a mask of seriousness settled over him. His blue eyes regarded Johnny soberly as he seemed to be considering his next words. “I just can’t believe that I couldn’t seem to connect that whack on the side of my head with my mood swings, paranoia, and all the other rotten things I seem to be so good at.”

“I think that’s why it’s called a head injury, Roy. With a hit that hard, you’re not supposed to associate the one with the other. You’re lucky that you even remember cracking your head.”

“I think I was a bit distracted this morning, still am in fact…” Roy raised his hand to stop the words about to burst from Gage. “That fight I had with my wife, with JoAnne, it just really seemed to hit home; you know what I’m saying?”

“Sure, sure, of course I do...I mean, not about the wife thing, ‘cause I obviously don’t have a wife, but you know that, I mean,” Johnny floundered to a halt, paused to regroup, and blundered on, words escaping faster than he could rein them in. “What I mean is, I know exactly what you’re saying, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, I understand what you’re saying,” Roy agreed, and then added “for once” under his breath. He resisted rolling his eyes, something he often did when trying to converse with the younger man, as he knew it would probably not help his headache any.

Johnny pursed his lips and scrunched up his eyes in anger; his muscles might be sore but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. The grin that immediately followed negated the conveyed emotion however, and both men shared a moment of good humor and understanding. It was Johnny this time that interrupted the mood with a question.

“You and JoAnne, are you okay then? You said, back at the fire before we started the cleanup, that you thought things were gonna be fine? That you had sorta made up?”

Unconsciously running a hand through his hair, Roy scooted backwards in the bed and pulled the sheet up over his bare feet and legs, suddenly feeling coolness drift over him. He took a moment to sort through his thoughts, feeling a bit more clarity now then he had before. Time was what he needed; time to get his brain back in full working order and time to be able to sift through everything that had transpired. He knew that Jo understood that; he didn’t want to use his concussion as an excuse for anything that ensued between them.

“I think that we’re good. We just need to work on our communication, and more importantly, our listening skills, or at least I do…”

“Two way street, Roy, two way street,” Johnny said earnestly, waving a hand and leaning forward. He winced and moved the hand to his back. Roy wondered, moved to distraction from his own problems by the motion, if there was bruise back there in the shape of his air tank; even with the heavy coat on, there was bound to be some pretty marks.

“Right, two way street as you so aptly describe it, that’s true. “ He waited as Gage dropped his hand in his lap and settled back on the pillows, face smoothing out as he worked his way through his discomfort and relaxed. “I just need to figure out if I’ve gotten kinda complacent in our marriage. I mean, all relationships take work; I think I’ve just been on a shortcut with ours.”

John nodded in understanding, and then did his some of his own nervous plucking at the sheets. “You know Roy, if it makes any difference to you, I mean compared to your marriage, your job is just a rest stop, a clean rest stop mind you, on your highway of life journey, but I just wanted to say, with me, and the rest of the guys on our shift too, I think you listen pretty darn good. And…” he paused, swallowing hard but turning his gaze on his friend as his mind strayed back to the basement and his sure knowledge that Roy would be the one to hear and find him. “Hey, man….thanks …for listening.”

~eeeEEEeee~

An hour later, their bursts of casual conversation and laughter interlaced with companionable silence had been disrupted by a grey-haired nurse striding into the room on a mission. She took vitals and asked Roy his name and other familiar questions that he could have recited the answers for in his sleep. Once she was done with him, she had taken one look at John and had stormed into the little bathroom, her voice clearly heard by both patients as she complained about the inefficiency of the ER nurses. She had returned with a dripping washcloth and proceeded to scour Gage’s face and then scrub his matted hair. His stuttering complaints totally ignored, she had then manhandled him back on his left side, snatching the extra pillow unceremoniously out from under him. The bed had been next on her agenda. John’s squeak of protest as she had dropped it back to its original flat position had been drowned out by her admonishments.

Roy, watching from his thoroughly mummified state, grinned in commiseration and enjoyed her rapid march around to the other side of Gage’s bed. Within seconds she had swapped out the IV bottles, swabbed down the hapless patient’s port, and pulled a syringe out of her pocket and shot the liquid in. This was something Roy knew Johnny would not appreciate. He had reluctantly conceded earlier, his familiar lopsided grin making an appearance, that he was still fuzzy from the earlier drugs. That in turn had led to Roy’s sarcastic comment of “Really? I hadn’t noticed!” which had finally resulted in his telling the tale of M and Ms’ antics in the recovery room. After Johnny had gotten over his initial disbelief, he had laughed so hard that tears had streaked down his dirty face. Maybe the noise of their combined laughter had brought that nurse into their room earlier than expected, but it had been worth it to hear Johnny’s mirth. Thinking about it, Roy realized that it had done wonders for dispelling his own anxiety, while also melting the last remaining ice chunks that had been bobbing between the two friends. Without a doubt Johnny had started the reconciliation process between them with his heartfelt thanks delivered within the guise of “thanks for listening”. And his awkward comparison of their job and the clean rest stop on Roy’s life path had been weird but spot on and had quite nicely broke the seemingly immobile iceberg into manageable pieces. Now if only he could work things out with Jo……

Of course Johnny might not have seen the early appearance of the nurse in quite the same way, because after the scowling matron had made some “Tsk tsk” sounds, she had then done something to the back of Johnny’s hospital gown that had him visibly startling and turning a brilliant shade of red; the sheet had then been wrapped tightly around him followed by the blanket until only his head had remained visible. Gage’s mouth had dropped open and his eyes had widened in surprise, but he had wisely chosen to keep any further noises or protests to himself. Even when the rubbery tubing had reappeared around his neck, practically strangling him as she circled it around him and pushed the prongs back into his nose, his discomfort had only manifested itself in a gusty sigh.

After the tornado of efficiency had twirled out of the room, John made only one further contribution to their rather tumultuous day of events by mumbling something about the equality of witches on broomsticks and partners who wouldn’t share vital information. Roy was pretty sure that Johnny was comparing the rather stern nurse with his withholding the information concerning the contents of that metal cabinet. His grin grew wider at that comparison and he pondered whether he should disclose that information now or keep his buddy in the dark, torture him with the suspense. He didn’t have to make the choice because unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, his counterpart’s utterances had melted away as he drifted into a drugged sleep. He had been heading that way himself when his attention was caught by the slow and hesitant opening of the door into their room.

JoAnne poked her head in, looking first at her husband and then sweeping her glance over at the still figure in the other bed. At Roy’s nod and smile of encouragement, she slid in and closed the door behind her. She tiptoed to Johnny’s side and paused, then extended her hand and softly touched his abraded cheek; the cheek that had scraped the harsh surface of his unyielding pillow in the dying building. As light of a touch as it was, the sleeping man stirred and shifted, lost in dreams but somehow registering and responding to the soothing brush of fingers. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “anvils and bowling balls” and JoAnne turned a questioning look upon Roy.

“I’ll explain later,” he whispered, beckoning her with his fingers and a mischievous wink. Another story that he would enjoy telling….

JoAnne smiled and moved to his side, drawing the privacy curtain around her husband and shutting them off from the world, at least for a moment. She perched on the edge of his bed, resting her hand on his arm and staring at him. Roy immediately recognized the signs of distress; the trembling lips and possessively gripping hand were leading to a flood of emotions that she wouldn’t be able to contain. With some difficulty, he pried his arms loose from the burrito he was encased in, lifted them up, and pulled her down onto his chest, cradling her within the protective circling of his arms. His soothing utterances soon turned into an apology, an explanation……

His wife lifted her head from his tear stained gown and made a hushing noise; a sound he had heard her use many times before with their children. It consoled him, reminded him of home and the warmth that resided there that didn’t come from the stone fireplace. “It doesn’t matter, none of it matters…I understand now those sayings about how you have to live for the moment, or don’t put off for tomorrow what you can do today, or don’t go to bed angry at your spouse without making up. Dr. Brackett explained to me about the concussion, the things you must have been going through all day. Oh Roy, when I think of how we parted this morning, and how this day could have ended, all because I was accusing you of something I am just as guilty of…..”

Oh Roy indeed, he thought as he found himself really listening to her unsaid words, her body language, something he hadn’t really done in quite a while. As he gathered her even closer, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against her soft skin, he realized there might have been an upside to the concussion and that early morning fight after all. Both events had jarred him out of his complacency, both within his marriage and at his job, something that he had needed. Change might be slow to follow, but as long as he understood that and strived just to make little adjustments, he would be ok. They would all be ok, and if Jo’s hesitant touch on his body were any indication, she was feeling the same way……

~Fini~

_A/N – Thank you for joining me on this adventure in words! I appreciate the feedback and thank you for it!_

 


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